Progress

I am learning, step by step. My intention in this painting had been to paint the shadows a purplish pink, with yellows in the sun. This resembles what I had in mind, at least. I even went further and tried to do warm colors on a cool, slate blue paper, to bring out a contrast shock. 

Without realizing it, I also did contrasting yellows and purples. My head knew more than it was letting on, and told me what to do. 

Now, I just have to continue in this vein until I get better.

New Challenges

A humble apple. The challenge was to stare at a photo for a length of time and then paint it without referring to it. I took the easy way out. I had a picture of an apple, and decided to go with that. After all, even if I didn't remember the painting faithfully, there's only so many ways to paint an apple. 

It seems to have gone well, though it has little to do with the photo. The challenge this week, which I've already completed, was to study a tree and then paint it, preferably en plein air. 

To begin, I have no plein air easel, nor any kind of setup outside my studio. (Even in here it's moveable and temporary.) So, I taped a piece of paper to a stiff cardboard I was about to throw out and took along my starter box of 18 Unison pastels. I went for a different painting, not something faithful. I barely looked at the tree, just painted what seemed to be the best combination of colors. The result was something new for me. I like it.

 

Ten Minutes

The weekly challenge on the Facebook group I follow was to paint something in ten minutes. Not a second more. I realized it wasn't as easy as walking up to the easel and just dumping the colors on the paper and walking away. This required planning.

Normally, I don't plan a painting on paper. I see something in my collection of photos I think I would like to paint, and try to copy the photo. When I begin, I see in my head how the painting should be, whether more or less like the photo, and trying to capture how I felt about the scene. (I have a good memory for the photos I have taken, and tend to remember the day and how I felt.)

But that's when the time is illimited. Most paintings take an hour from beginning to end. Some, I let stew overnight or over a couple of days if it simply doesn't feel right. For ten minutes, I had to have some things decided when I sat down at the easel. 

I chose a simple image of dunes on a cloudy day, which had resonated with the cloudy feelings inside me. I chose the colors I would use, and set them on the table beside the easel. I passed a white pastel pencil over the paper, delimiting the dunes, the shrubs, the distant mountain. Then, I set the timer and let 'er rip.

In ten minutes I had something, but I couldn't say I was

finished. I could do this, I discovered, but I couldn't call it a complete success. Perhaps it was just a little too large to really complete in ten minutes (24 x 16 cm), but it was a good try. I discovered I could step up to the easel with more of a game plan than I had been doing, and get results.

I think I might challenge myself in the future again. All in the name of learning!

Blue and Orange

A cool December evening in Madrid. The sun is setting and I am taking pictures. One is of the entrance to the subway against one of the Torres Kio. 

The orange competes with the reflected blue sky in the glass. I like that combination of orange and blue. 

The other day I read in Karen Margulis' blog about using Caran d'Ache Neocolor II water soluble wax pastels for the underpainting. By complete coincidence, when I visited Porto last week, I saw some sticks in an art store. I buy four. I used two in this as an underpainting. The russet color and the malachite green, a type of turquoise. I like how it turned out. I think I am learning. Slowly, but steadily. 

Drought

Inactivity sucks you down like the quicksand on an innocent beach. For various different reasons, I haven't been painting lately. I began one, but my furry little Macarena brushed against it, and now it needs to be given first aid before I continue. My energy level is too low.

I did do one painting since the great drought began. It's not very good, but it is a good rendition, for me, of the human figure. I can only hope others appreciate it, as well.

I have ideas. I have plans. But the problem now is focusing on one of them for as long as it takes to get it done. Perhaps then, with a little pumping, art will gush out once more, and the drought will end.

Blinded Vision

It's always a good feeling to create a new painting. As I go, things take on a blurry outline, recognizable images start to emerge. As I near the end, things begin to stand out, not always as I had seen them in my head, but in their own form. They seem to come to life under my fingers following their own strange rules. 

But that's not the case lately. As my fingers lay out the color, trying to give the images in my head a form, the form becomes twisted and unrecognizable. It refuses to obey me or even be counselled by me. It comes out flat, dead, unrecognizable except to itself. The synergy between my head and my fingers is being demolished by the anxiety that has been broiling inside me for the past few weeks. 

It's a transitory anxiety, one caused by the illness in the family of an older member. With the person's age, one of the probable outcomes is loss. The future remains unknown, uncertainty rules, and my inner vision has become clouded. Life has been put on a temporary hold. How temporary remains to be seen.

Practice Makes Better

Slowly, very slowly, abilities are acquired, knowledge becomes more sure. Having joined a Facebook page, HowToPastel, run by Gail Sibley, has helped. Every week there is a challenge to meet. 

That means that every week I force myself to meet it. If it hadn't been for that, I probably wouldn't have painted every week. I would have drifted back out of pastels for a couple of months, probably. This way, I paint and slowly develop my abilities. I have grown more confident. 

Practice, practice, practice. How true the old adage is. Physical and mental abilities need to be practiced. If they're not, they don't develop. They remain in a primeval state and never grow. Even small talents need to be worked on to become better talents. One is not born being able to see things. Anyone can see a stone. One must train oneself to see the different veins of minerals, the myriad of colors, and the mystery of its evolution and origin. 

Let's keep practicing.  

Intentions

I have always loved art. I have loved looking at it, and have always wanted to create it. But I never had an inborn talent. I would sometimes see a talented artist take a pencil, and with a simple movement of the hand create a face. I always wanted to do something like that, but never could. My head was stuck in the "grass is green, rocks are black, lips are red" childhood art routine.

Then, one day, someone at work told me all I had to do was forget what I was drawing, and pay attention only to the lines and how they intersected and leaned against each other. And, slowly, I began to draw recognizable shapes.

Color was an obvious step up. I bought a box of Derwent pastels. I experimented with them. But I did so on the wrong paper and with no instruction of how to use them. We moved to Spain and I brought the box with me, on the off chance that I might find a way to learn. Then, ten years ago, I saw abstract paintings done by someone my husband and I knew. I thought to myself, "I think I can do something better than that." I found a book on pastel painting, bought the appropriate paper, and the rest is history.

I haven't done work continuously, though. Not until this summer, when I discovered Karen Margulis' blog and others, such as Gail Sibley. I have found this summer that I can do more than I though I could. Also, that practice is necessary. And now I find myself practicing every week, if not every day.

There is a satisfaction upon looking at something that you have just done, and realizing that your hands coordinated well enough with your brain to bring out something recognizable, if not perfect. 

Let art continue.

Into the Wilderness

It's not always easy striking out on your own, with no one to show you the way. It seems you are walking along a star-lit path that leads into the black ink of an unknown forest where you must try to find the way to the other side.

It wasn't easy putting the first pastels to paper. It was even worse because the paper was white watercolor paper and it felt as if I had picked up a piece of colored chalk from the blackboard ledge and was trying to paint like Turner with it. 

But the path continued under the black felt of the trees, and I found my way by stepping gingerly, noticing where the weeds made walking untenable, and stepping on the well-worn path with increasing firmness.

Within a reasonable amount of time, with a little guidance from the tree trunks, I made it out of the forest onto the other side.