Work in Progress

We had a lovely holiday in Costa Rica where I painted a number of portraits and found time for some plein air painting in our town of Atenas as well. So now, back home, it’s time to take up where we left off – and it’s good to be back in my studio.

Today I have eight paintings propped up around my studio: 11x14 plein air sketches that were produced on my last painting trip to Algonquin Park (see Algonquin Bound). I grab a coffee and pull up a chair. Jazz, my golden doodle, settles down beside me knowing it’s going to be a while before we go for a walk.

Time away from my work is important; it helps me to detach myself from the painting process and to examine my paintings with a fresh perspective in a studio setting.  I quickly reject several paintings that I feel have little energy and set them aside. Then, as I get down to studying the remaining paintings carefully, certain questions keep running through my train of thought:

What was it, exactly, that caused me to stop and paint this particular sketch?
 
Ignoring detail for the moment, is there a strong statement of the experience of the moment.

How could I take this sketch forward, while preserving the original content? Will a larger scale help? A landscape or portrait format? How could I improve the composition?

Finally, when I find a sketch where some of the answers show promise, I take down a large blank canvas and place it on my easel. As I pause to consider how to start the painting, I sense a confidence that comes from years of painting, telling me that as I proceed, the new painting will show me what to do. It’s better to leave some parts unresolved at this point so that surprise turns in the road may bring unexpected (good) results.

Using a large brush dipped in water and some transparent dark acrylic colour (never black) I make sweeping big brush strokes allowing the paint to run and drip as I investigate different motifs. I walk back to get a better look with a rag in hand ready to wipe off unwanted areas. It’s a process that may take a few hours or longer until I am comfortable with the design. In some cases I remain close to the original composition, at other times it will be quite different.

When I begin to apply colour using an acrylic medium I pay close attention to the key areas in the original sketch. I know that I have become very adept at accurately recording different shades of colour of the sky, shadows, reflections etc. in the field. Now it’s imperative that I preserve these colour qualities, (value, intensity and hue), in the new painting, to capture the essence of the original plein air intent.

As the painting progresses, I make adjustments to the composition, continuing to walk back and forth to get a better overall assessment, always listening to what the painting is trying to tell me. My goal for a large painting is to end up with one that reads well and delivers a strong artistic statement at some viewing distance, one that does not demand to be examined up close. It’s my way of attempting  to produce the  ‘poster effect’ that I admire in the work of the Impressionists and John Singer Sargent among others.

The painting progresses over a period of a week or so. When I feel it’s getting close to being finished I take it down from my easel and turn it against the studio wall. After some days, I will reassess the painting and the same questioning process will begin again: Have I preserved the original feeling? Does the painting have energy? Are there any design flaws that will become tiresome in time? And most importantly: Does it resonate with the energy of the original experience?

Sometimes living with the canvas in a frame, hanging from a wall in my studio, helps to give me a better judgement. Usually minor changes will follow until I am sure it’s time to proudly sign the painting and catalogue it.

Then on to the next.

Charlie Spratt

March 2012