We're all curious about the contents of other artists' studios. How are things laid out? What type of lighting is employed? What color are the walls? But one of the most interesting questions is: What art books do they keep on hand?
 
Books can play a valuable role in the success of an artist. They carry on a lineage of information passed from one generation to the next. A debt of gratitude is owed to those industrious teachers and painters who felt the need, or desire, to take pen to paper and place their observations, understandings, and experiences down to enlighten future generations.
 
Western art has had a long history of influential artist/authors and much has been made of the opinions they expressed. As valuable as these works can be, however, it's imperative that we place them in the context of their time. Scientific knowledge evolves, providing heightened understanding of the way we see and the phenomenon of light. Tastes change. What was acceptable in one time becomes passé and trite in another. However, the core observations and reasonings of these writers retain importance. As scholars instruct: if we don’t learn from the past, we are destined to repeat it.
 
Through study of these “text books” on the craft of painting, we create our own way, adapting what we read into our process. With time we shed dependency upon them for the “answers” of how to paint and instead rely on them as comforting reminders of art foundations—of the “why” certain things work in our paintings. They become the combined observations of many generations, providing a pool of information upon which we form our individual beliefs.

Personally, I have few historic favorites on the subject of landscape: Carlson's Guide to Landscape Painting by John F. Carlson, published in 1929 (the landscape painters’ bible); Landscape Painting by Birge Harrison, published in 1909 (a series of impromptu lectures given to the Art Students League summer school in Woodstock, N.Y. (Harrison was a teacher to Carlson); and The Art of Landscape Painting in Oil Colour by Sir Alfred East, published in 1906 (an interesting, highly informative read filled with strong opinions). Another must have is: Composition, Understanding Line, Notan and Color by Arthur Wesley Dow, published in 1899 (an eye opening exercise in design). Acquiring copies of these books use to require a treasure hunt through used bookstores. Now with book-find sites on the Internet and public domain publishers, picking up out-of-print treasures can be a mouse click away. Digital versions are also becoming accessible as PDF files that are easily downloaded to a computer. Check out “Google Books” or do a web search for available copies.

Today's art publishers, such as North Light Books, continue to provide instructional art books filled with sage advice for the beginner to the advanced. Many of these will undoubtedly become the treasured studio guides to a future generation of painters.
 
What are your favorite "historic" art books? Your favorite contemporary art books? Please share highlights from your personal library by posting a comment here.

Relating value (the relative lightness and darkness of things) to color can be a tricky exercise. When color is intense (high in chroma), this becomes even more of a challenge. Since chroma is easily related to brightness, it's common to associate lightness to it as well, leading to value confusion. This is usually the culprit when we're having a hard time associating a proper value to a given pastel stick. Grayed tones become much easier to identify. The color is diminished, allowing for the value to be easily distinguished.
 
It is worth noting that if you're use to working with oils or other wet media, you may have a distorted mental image of base pigments. Since oils are wet, the base pigment often appears darker, often by as much as two values, and richer in appearance. Think of this like a rock viewed in a stream bed. When wet, it is a jewel, filled with rich lush colors. Once dry it appears dull, lacking the luster that initially drew your attention. This explains why all those rocks I picked up as a child along the streams that ran through the woods of Oregon were nothing more than rocks when I pulled them out of my pockets hoping to impress my mother. To better understand the change in the appearance of pigments when they're wet or dry, compare burnt sienna straight from an oil paint tube to pure burnt sienna in pastel form (which has not been affected by the addition of white or black). Most manufacturers will indicate pure pigment on their labels or printed color charts. After witnessing the difference many pastel artists decide to work in a higher key, raising the value scale and avoiding overly dark pastel applications. Traditionally black pigment was added to pure base colors to darken them and this produced dead dark tones. Today many manufacturers are combining rich dark pigments in the making of their darker pastels, providing much richer darks.
 
Training the eye to see value and to not be overwhelmed with color takes time. The best advice I have in arranging pastels by value is to make marks of the color on white, black and middle gray (something close to halfway between white and black), or on a value scale representing no more than nine values between white and black. Then close one eye and squint way down. If the mark nearly disappears, it is close in value. If it stands out as noticeably lighter or darker, you'll have a better idea of where it resides on the value scale. See, for example, in the illustration above, how—when you squint—the red is close to value 6, the blue is close to value 3 and the yellow is close to value 9.

Many of us live in areas that don’t provide easy plein air experiences in the winter. The days are too short and the weather too damp for pastel work—not to mention the inhospitable temperature. It's during these times that we all long for a painting vacation to some inspiring, warm environment.

Just as the depression of winter was starting to take hold this year, I was able to arrange a plein air workshop in southern Arizona, in the Tucson area—a place I had never visited before (see photo). The desert has always held a particular fascination for me: California’s Mojave, northern New Mexico’s Pueblo country, and eastern Oregon’s rugged high desert have provided many hours of painting inspiration. Something about the textures and rhythms of the rugged earth and industrious vegetation combine with the wide-open expanse, making for unlimited painting possibilities. So, with great eagerness, I set off for Arizona. Fortunately, I was able to connect with artist friends upon arriving in the Phoenix/Scottsdale area and they graciously showed me the sights. It is worthwhile to make contact with local plein air painters when visiting an unfamiliar area for the first time. They know where all the good painting locations are and days of aimless wandering can be avoided. This also provides artist camaraderie as so much of our time painting can be spent in isolation. It's a pleasure to spend time with “our tribe.” After checking out the local art scene of Scottsdale (one of the major art markets in the United States), it was off to Tucson.
 
Upon arriving, it became clear why many artists have been drawn to this rugged and majestic landscape. The city sits at the base of the beautiful Catalina mountain range. With the intense reflected light off the desert floor, it's a nonstop kaleidoscope of value and color variation. Dry river washes that attest to the volume of water produced during the monsoon season, and the abundant varieties of cactus and desert vegetation provide a stunning foil. But it didn’t take us long to be reminded of the dangers of extreme desert painting: cactus needles that could penetrate the strongest of shoes required pliers for removal; rattlesnakes easily blended into the terrain; and ornery wild pigs left hoof prints as a reminder they were near. Curious coyotes peaked up over the ditches as we packed in for the day. All this played a part in the experience. It was a reminder to do research in advance of wondering off towards that beautiful inspiration when visiting unfamiliar locations. We definitely weren’t in Kansas anymore!
 
If you love to work en plein air and winter gets you down, try visiting the Southwest. The key of light is high and the color harmony muted with a gray that threads it all together. You won’t be disappointed. Summer in this region of Arizona is another matter: I was assured that even a pastel stick could melt!

Here it is again—time to file those federal and state taxes. As artists, we typically spend more time engaging the creative side of the brain, which can’t be bothered with records and itemized lists of expenses. Creativity is great but best avoided when filling out tax forms.

If painting is mostly a past-time for you (and there is nothing wrong with that; you are in good company with the likes of Sir Winston Churchill), keeping records and expensing your costs is not a concern. Even as a hobby, painting can prove expensive and being able to declare these costs against other income may be tempting. Be aware that hurdles must be met. It's best to contact a well-trained tax consultant for advice. If you're pursuing painting as a career, though, learning to keep accurate records and knowing what can be deducted, becomes imperative.
 
Let me start by stating that I am not an expert on tax matters and certainly not an accountant. However, having done this for many years has lead to a few observations that might prove helpful:
• Find a professional accountant or tax preparer and build a long-term relationship. Quick “drive through” tax businesses may not be equipped to understand the business of art. What we do is not a “cookie-cutter” business and requires a professional that has some experience working with artists. So many aspects of our lives are intertwined with the pursuit of creating art; it takes someone that understands the lifestyle and tax code to filter out what can, and cannot, be deducted.
• Keep good records and all receipts. Computer-based bookkeeping programs are very helpful. Personally, I use an old-fashioned line ledger (old habits are hard to break). Don’t procrastinate in recording the information. There is nothing more daunting than a shoebox full of old forgotten receipts.
• Set up a separate checking account and credit card for art related matters. This can make bookkeeping much easier. You know that everything on the statements had some art-related purpose. With online record-keeping, these records can be directly downloaded to accounting software, making it even easier to track those expenditures.
• Deposit all income derived from your art, such as sales and tuition, into the dedicated checking account. Itemize these deposits by breaking them down into separate categories of income. Add a description to jog your memory, in case clarification is required.
• Place a small notebook in your vehicle and record mileage to and from all art-related activities. All those trips to the art store, framer, classes, and shipping agent really add up. Even drives in pursuit of “landscape inspiration” are part of what we do.
• If you have a separate studio space solely devoted to your art, it can provide a major deduction. If you utilize a room within your living space, it can become a little tricky and is best left to your tax consultant to work out.
• Classes and workshops are considered part of continuing education. Everything involved can be deducted: tuition, travel, lodging, and meals. Even the upcoming trip to the IAPS (International Association of Pastel Societies) convention in Albuquerque, N.M., is deductible. Speaking of which, the artist Terri Ford happens to be offering an interesting IAPS session titled: “The Art of Keeping Good Tax Records,” on May 30th, 12:30 to 2:30 pm. To find out more, click here.

It was Benjamin Franklin who said, "Certainty? In this world, nothing is certain but death and taxes." If painting is a major expense in your life, it may prove helpful to talk to your tax person and see if you can’t declare some of it against your income, ultimately providing more money for pastel purchases.

We are capable of discerning the individual elements of a scene because of the human mind's ability to process the reflected light received through the eyes. Individual differences become apparent due to our relationship to the forms and their ability to reflect light. This is manifested as variations in color and value. The mountains stand out against the sky; the human head against the background; and so on.  It is helpful to remember that everything we see is due to light. Without it, nothing visually exists. Painting is a representation of that light and is incapable of exact duplication. We are restrained by the limitations of the products we employ. We only create an illusion.

At the point of this perceivable separation, or where two objects meet, there is an area of transition. How this area is painted has the potential for either heightened luminosity or muddiness. It is common when painting these areas to represent each individually and then blend or smudge them together.  If they are close in color relationship and near in value, this will work fairly well. But for most situations, this can be the recipe for mud or the loss of iridescence. When intermixed, the two areas clash, neutralizing one another. A better approach is to place a color and value between them that represents something halfway—a bridge (See the image, above, which shows an example of “bridging” color and value). If the areas share a common surface, it is best to bias the color choice toward the warm side, creating more of the glow of refracted light. Take, for example, a large area of sunlit golden grasses with a cast shadow falling across a section. The grasses fall into the yellow-orange color family at a high value, while the shadow has a dull violet tone in a low value range. If the edge where the two meet is simply rubbed or smeared together, a muddy gray is produced. If, instead, a middle value rose-red is minutely fused where they touch, a sense of luminosity is preserved. Cool colors, by nature, recede and work better when a recessionary transition is desired, like the edge of a tree next to a golden distant hill.

Don't think of this as a trick, something overstated and cliché, but rather as a means of helping to represent the natural light which illuminates our scenes. Our job is to spend time observing and analyzing these transition points, and then to employ whatever means possible to represent the beauty of that perceived light.