Artists have been attracted to reflections throughout history. We all admire what Monet did with the reflections of the Houses of Parliament as well as the famous water lily series. This attraction to reflections was certainly an impetus for my painting, Winter Canal (left; pastel, 12x12).

Contemporary pastel artist, Fred Somers, from Minnesota, has also done some very interesting and intriguing paintings of reflections on water—such as his painting, Gold Leaf on Crimson Waters (pastel, 18x24) below. (To learn more about Somers, see the feature on the artist in the October issue of The Pastel Journal, and visit his website).

As beautiful as reflections are, there are a few observations about them that are often overlooked by the novice painter:

1. Reflections are not a mirror reflection of the scene. You are seeing the reflected images and the scene in front of you from two different viewing angles. The reflection is coming off the surface of the water, but you see the reflection from an angle as far below the water's surface as you are above it. Depending on your visual height compared to the reflective surface, this can vary considerably. If you are six feet tall and standing on the edge of the reflective body, the reflection would be coming from a distance of six feet below the surface of the water. In other words, the reflection is showing you the underside of what you can see and, due to its angle, may cut off things you are capable of seeing in the distance. This is evident when looking at a distant mountain across a lake but only a tip of it reflects below the tree line along the shore. From the water surface, the mountain would not be visible, but to you it is very clear. Think of the reflection as being you, submerged in the water, looking up. The angle of vision is greatly different than what you see eye-level from the shore. This is more pronounced when closer to the reflection and becomes less noticeable at great distances.
 
2. Generally, darks reflect slightly lighter and lights slightly darker. Depending on the clarity of the water, this can be more or less pronounced. Color will be affected by the surface tone and is rarely brighter in chroma than what is being reflected.
 
3. All reflections move towards you. A reflection takes three components: the objects reflecting, the surface they are reflecting on, and you. You are the component most often left out of the recipe. Reflections travel towards your eyes and will appear to follow you when you move. To best see this, go to a boat basin and look at the reflections of tall upright poles in the water. As they reflect, the tops (which are at the bottom of the reflection) appear to come towards your feet. This can be subtle but is a fact of reflections.
 
4. Edges should be softer than the reflecting objects. Due to the refractive nature of even the stillest water, edges should be slightly softened. Sparkles on the surface of the water should also be softened and radiate from near white to a slight orange yellow as the light is being bent. As light hits the surface of the water, it is shattered. Try not to paint those perfect little white dots that photography is capable of capturing. The human eye is not a camera lens and shutter.
 
By looking for these tendencies, you will become more sensitive to the true nature of reflections and your paintings will manifest a more natural appearance.

While demonstrating for a workshop in upstate New York a couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of one of the major benefits of working en plein air: permission to interpret. As I worked out a thumbnail sketch in advance of committing pastel to surface, the task of editing began. I established a center of interest within the framework of the composition and then manipulated other elements of visual composition—edge, shape, texture, value, and color—to strengthen its presence. I altered or even ignored major elements in the scene as the composition took form.

After feeling confident about the bones of the painting, the process of applying pastel to surface commenced. If I have a good idea of the big relationships and purpose behind the painting in advance of starting, it's easier to focus on the technique of painting, which allows for a more confident application. That assured feeling often comes through, producing a more spontaneous and positive end result. As the painting developed and these manipulations became more apparent to the students paying close attention, one of them made an observation: “It looks like you do what is best for the painting, instead of being subservient to the scene.” And indeed. that's what painting is. We do what is needed, manipulating and orchestrating the elements of the painting to best communicate our intensions about the scene.
 
This student’s observation got me thinking. A few days after the event, I compared the photo from the scene to the finished painting. The photo appeared cold and boring. If I hadn’t been there in person, I would never have given this photo a second glance. When in the presence of the unlimited possibilities of nature, we have two choices: to feel completely overwhelmed and cower before it, or to open the door of chance and allow all it has to offer to provide inspiration. Being surrounded by natural light that's always in motion and the influences of the entire setting, even the areas outside of our view, all have an effect. By practicing and applying the principles of composition, light and dark relationships, and color theory, we're able to harness the power of the paint and become more confident and free to make choices that lead to personal artistic statements. No one gets a prize for making it exactly the way it was.
 
[pictured top] The Fields of the Hudson (pastel, 10x14) and the reference photo of the scene.

 
As a landscape painter, I find myself constantly curious to see what lies over every hill. Of course, there's more than enough to keep me painting in my own backyard; Oregon is filled with diversity and wonder, but when opportunity provides the chance to explore, I'm always eager.

A few weeks ago I was fortunate to have been teaching and painting in the Lot Valley of France. Having visited the Provence region three years ago, I was anxious to return to France. As Robert Henri noted in his book, The Art Spirit, France is a nation that centuries ago embraced its artistic nature. It's manifest everywhere. The aesthetic of beauty is not just by accident but also by design. They honor and respect painters. Art is thought of as a noble endeavor: What’s not to love about that?!
 
The workshop was hosted at a popular artist's retreat, Domaine du Haut Baran. Hosts William and Rosalie Haas have transformed an 18th century country manor into a painter’s paradise. Nestled in a quiet hillside overlooking the Lot River valley and the village of Puy L’Eveque, it provides ample painting opportunities in its own right. This popular location has hosted many art workshops with some of the most recognizable names in the art community, artists like Elizabeth Mowry, Alan Flattmann and Judith Carducci. With quiet Bastide villages nearby, painters find they can focus on their craft while still enjoying the local culture without compromise.
 
My visit occuring near the end of June and into the first part of July allowed our group to witness firsthand the summer heat and taste a bit of the humidity which keeps the valley so lush. All of this was forgotten with the first glimpse of lavender fields. There's nothing quite as perfect as a decaying ochre-colored 13th century castle perched on a hillside above a field of lavender. It didn’t hurt that it was set near a winery that nursed the mood of a few frustrated painters. Another afternoon we visited some of the first pastel paintings recorded 25,000 years ago in the caves of Pech Merle (early man even formed them into stick form before applying the pigment to the cave walls) making us proud to have carried the torch into the 21st century. Say what they will, pastel was first!

The final thrill caught us by surprise as we drove back from an afternoon of painting in the hilltop Bastide of Belaye. A panoramic view into the Lot Valley brought glimpses of the river as it meandered through the fertile valley, and then sunflowers—entire fields of them! William encouraged us to walk into the fields amongst the rows of flowers. It really was a sea of dancing cadmium. As a group, we were so impressed that on the final day we persuaded him to take us back and even more fields were explored. Every culture has its art, but as a landscape artist, it's easy to see why France is so dear.
 
You can visit Haut Baran’s web site at www.hautbaran.com. If you're able to attend one of their fine workshop offerings, I encourage you to do so. I know I’ll be back. The sunflowers must be painted!