The novice paints the leaves; the master suggests the tree.

 

Painters are illusionists. We trick the viewer’s eye into believing a bit of pigment on a surface is something real. Realizing this makes us confront the reality that we aren’t sculptors creating physical bulk but magicians creating the appearance of form where none exists. Our job is to learn the tricks involved in the illusion.
 
Beginning at birth, our brains record our experiences. All you have to do is look into a child's eyes to see the process. They explore, touch, and ask questions, seeking heightened understanding: What is that? Why? How come? These questions come bounding out as they seek explanations. With maturity, we learn that trees grow separately and are covered with leaves; rocks are individual pieces of hard minerals, some smooth and round, while others are course and sharp; fields are made up of hundreds of thousands of tiny blades of grass. This knowledge becomes internalized, ultimately prejudicing what we see. No longer do we see with the innocence of a child. This manifests itself in painting unnecessarily detailed renderings of “things”. We over-describe what we “know” instead of relying on what we “see."
 
To break free of the habit, approach a painting as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. The puzzle has no reference on its box top for comparison. The individual pieces have to be analyzed and fit together to form a relationship. As we begin to assemble the puzzle, an understanding of what the picture is becomes apparent. This exercise turns the dictionary part of our seeing off, allowing us to better focus on the abstract elements which ultimately produces a clearer impression of the scene. These non-objective “bits and pieces,” consisting of value and color, all intertwine, creating the representation of reality. The more confident we become the less information we will give. When arranged appropriately, our audience will complete the picture from just a few of these puzzle pieces. This engages them in the process; they become an active participant bringing their memories into play.
 
Stand next to a painting and ask passersby: “What it is?” Most will comment "a tree" or “a cloud.” The truth is that it is pigment marks representing those elements. In my plein air painting shown here, close analysis reveals that it is made up of nothing more than shapes of value and color—bits and pieces. In our paintings, we have employed sleight-of-hand, creating an illusion, and our audience gets to sit back and enjoy the performance.
 

There's an old painting adage: If you want to learn to draw, work from the human form; for color, go to the landscape. If a tree is a little wider or a mountain a little taller, no one notices. Misrepresent human form and everyone comments. For this reason, the ability to accurately draw is best studied with the human form.

Even if it is not your artistic passion, a certain amount of consistent study with a live model keeps your eye and hand well trained. On the other hand, the landscape provides unlimited opportunity for the study of the phenomenon of color. The vastness of its space and complexity of hue, all work with the intensity of natural light to provide constant wonderment. Whenever we think we have it figured out, a new situation arises to challenge us. There simply will never be enough pigment to appease natural light.
 
My early painting years were spent devoted to the portrait. I felt there was nothing nobler than the ability to capture a likeness. Not being interested in commission portraiture, I worked with the character study, especially weather beaten aged faces. The roadmap of their faces held their stories. This study provided a wealth of technical training; sighting, the ability to see widths and heights accurately, sensitivity to how edges are handled, and the strength of value relationships, all were practiced. The nuances of the positioning of the model and the psychology of color choices helped in strengthening the aesthetics of the finished painting.

These same concepts applied to the landscape, but it’s vastness and magnificent illumination required a different approach. Distances were now a matter of miles, instead of the inches involved in the face, requiring more manipulation of color and value to represent its luminosity and depth. The technique of under-painting, often discussed in this blog, evolved as a major part of my landscape approach. It helped to establish the big relationships and shared quality of color throughout the scene, setting up the surface for the application of pastel. These under-painting techniques are now part of the portrait work as well. The pastel portrait (above) of a Native American woman in Taos, N.M., incorporates my landscape technique of under-painting
 
Even though my passion has migrated over the years from the portrait to nature, the occasional venture back into portraiture reminds me to be sensitive to the minutia and to practice accuracy. Drawing skills get polished and the landscape is better for the diversion. I encourage the magnitude of landscape artists to give time to the portrait and similarly for figurative painters to venture out into nature. Do it for yourself. You’ll be a stronger painter for the study.