Watching Martin “Marty” Weekly paint plein air in Mineral King was a huge privilege and a great learning opportunity. It is one thing to take a workshop in Georgia, where everything is unfamiliar. It is another thing to watch someone paint a landscape that I know very well, so I can understand how decisions are made to include some items and simplify or ignore others.
Here are some of the many things that Marty taught me in the 3 hours we stood there together:
If your brush feels comfortable, try the next size up. (Why? I try to do this so that I get the painting finished in a timely manner, but I think Marty does this so he doesn’t get overly detailed.)
Cobalt blue with white mades a very accurate sky color.
All paintings look terrible in the beginning, even if you are as terrific as Marty Weekly!
Adjust the parts of your painting to suit you and make the best composition possible, while retaining the recognizable characteristics of the scene.
No one finishes on location; almost every plein air painter knows there will be finishing required in the studio.
Turpentine from the hardware store is good enough – no need to pay for overpriced art supply turpentine.
There is a brush cleaner available from the hardware store that will salvage any dried-out brush (I can’t wait to try this!)
Try Permanent Rose instead of Alizarin Crimson for one of the mixing reds. (Why? I have this color, so I will find out!)
The sky can be finished in the studio, along with the various vegetation in the foreground. We talked about Goldenrod, Sage, and Asters, which are all present in September; he made visual reminders. We also talked about the stream, getting at least the lay of the land so there is a sense of the stream.
I am looking forward to seeing the finished painting! Since the intended recipients are friends of mine, I will ask to see a photo, and hope I can show you.
Marty and discussed the weirdly shaped juniper. The light on the edge of it was compelling, and he decided to put it in, but not the same size as it is in real life. The trouble with that scene in real life is that there are 4 trees, all in a line, all the same height and evenly spaced. If it were painted that way, it might look like a sad little orchard rather than a natural scene.
When he added the light on the edge, the tree came alive (not literally on the canvas but you know what I mean, yes?)
We discussed the Honeymoon Cabin. Marty didn’t know what it was, and his wife and I convinced him it was important to include, especially because the painting is to be a wedding gift for a couple who knows Mineral King.
He worked his way down into the lower reaches of the painting, which looked like a daunting amount of real estate to me.
We discussed the snow patch on the side of Vandever, which is important enough to have a name – Bearskin. It is often speculated about during the summers as we wonder how long the snow will last. The addition of Bearskin made it necessary to add the remaining snow right below Farewell Gap. He also added in Falcon Peak, which is really just the headwall of White Chief Canyon (to the right of Vandever).
Marty also did some reshaping and tightening up of the accuracy of some of the shapes. Because he paints in a loose and impressionist style, this surprised me. But, his scenes are always recognizable, so of course he wants the shapes to be correct. We talked about the top of Vandever, which wasn’t visible from where we stood, and I was able to tell him that the top is jagged and it is taller than West Florence on the left side of the gap.
We discussed the vegetation, and he made some visual notes so he would know how to finish things later in his studio.
On Monday, I’ll tell you some of the many things I learned from watching Martin Weekly, master plein air oil painter paint in Mineral King.
As Martin Weekly set up his painting, I stood in the shade of the juniper, took photos, and just listened and watched. As a Questioner, I bit back many questions, and waited for him to either talk to himself or to address me directly. He shared a tremendous amount of experience and information, which I wrote down when he was finished for the afternoon.
The second roughed in sketch.
Blocking in begins.
There is great comfort in knowing that even the work of a master begins looking scribbly and worrisome.
See those bright orange dots? That is the way Marty checks his values (the darks and lights) because orange is a strong middle value. He can compare any color to see if it is darker or lighter, because a painting needs all the different darks and lights to be good.
This is the scene we were viewing, but of course our eyes take in so much more when standing on location than can be captured by a camera lens.
Marty sees colors differently than I do.
We joked about how paintings look so dreadful in the beginning stages. I always say, “Best viewed from the back of a fast horse”, and he said, “Might look good at midnight with the lights out while wearing sunglasses”.
To the right side of the scene is a weirdly shaped juniper tree and the Honeymoon Cabin. I wondered if he would include those 2 signature items that tell exactly where we are.
It was time for sky so the top of the peaks could be defined. Marty uses a different color of blue than I do for skies, and I thought it was perfect! Why haven’t all the various instructors I’ve had ever mentioned Cobalt blue for skies?? Everyone else swears by Phthalo or Cerulean blue!
We talked about the weird juniper, and Marty thought about it. He decided to not have any trees shooting up above the line of the peaks. This was a concept I never considered; I thought if you made the trees too short, the perspective would look wrong. Not so when Marty does it!
Martin Weekly, AKA Marty, is a master plein air painter and a friend. Recently he painted in Mineral King, and I had the privilege of watching over his shoulder.
He set up in a place that wasn’t highly visible to the public, although we did have a few observers who watched briefly (and one who asked some annoying questions when he was trying to concentrate, which is just part of the job.)
Marty set up his easel at a place and time that he scouted on the previous day.
See? Barely visible.
He set up his supplies and began painting. I was astonished to see that his methods and materials are completely different from that of Laurel Daniel, an equally accomplished painter who taught the workshop that I attended in Georgia in April.
His palette contains colors I’ve never seen used before instead of the primaries, as I learned from several sources.
His canvas is HUGE compared to what Laurel uses in the field, and he referred to it as “small”!
He began by toning the entire canvas with burnt sienna mixed with turpentine; Laurel uses linseed oil and doesn’t “tone” the canvas.
He began drawing the scene with the same color; Laurel blocks it in with a mixture of burnt sienna and french ultramarine.
I was greatly reassured when he had to do the outline several times and completely erased it once. This guy is truly a master, and to know he also doesn’t always get it right the first time gave me hope.
Come back in two days for more of my session with Marty.
In spite of the common practice of completing a plein air painting alla prima I think that many of my paintings in that style definitely need touching up. It takes awhile for me to see what I can fix, and it takes wisdom to know if it would be an improvement.
Today’s post shows the before, contrasted with the “New & Improved” versions of several of my plein air attempts.
This was done plein air style from a photo. Actually, now that I know plein air means open air, this was actually painted alla prima, which means in one session. Although I like it, I wanted the seaweed to be seaweed and not get mistaken for rocks.
Never mind to alla prima. The seaweed needed to be improved upon. I like it better now. I named it “A Walk to the Rock”. That is a reference to the other Moro Rock, which is actually Morro Rock. And this time I photographed it in different light, so all the colors look different. Always something. . .
This one kept bugging me, so I put it back on the easel.
I like it better now and changed the name from “Yard 1” to “Poppies Far & Near”. This time I photographed it in softer sunlight.
This didn’t have enough contrast the first time, and Moro Rock didn’t look right. I was so displeased with the first version that I didn’t even save a copy of the photo. This is the new and improved version, now simply titled “Snowball Bush”. No birdhouse, no pink roses, no red roses. Those might work if I was doing my old layering or “glazing” style. But now I am painting a new and possibly improved style.
New and improved? or just new? The verdict isn’t in yet. You will be able to see these at the 45th annual Redbud Festival.
A teacher once called me a “maverick”, because I kept testing the boundaries of the assignments. Gretchen Rubin would classify me as a “Questioner”, one who wants to know why and only does things that make sense.
Last week we were admiring the view out of the living room window. While standing outside, the view is a bit different, and there isn’t enough room on that particular terrace to set up an easel. So, Trail Guy suggested I set up in the living room and paint the scene out of the window. Since it was a 95° day, that sounded like a good idea to me.
The view.
The set up.
Whoa! That’s a bobcat! Are the grandkitties secure in the workshop?? Where is Scout? Where is Tucker?
The 3 week old babies were fine.
Beginnings (and an emergency photo on the screen of the computer, on which I am listening to a podcast called “What Should I Read Next”).
I can’t figure out where to stand to show you both the view and the painting in progress.
This one is looking sort of “meh” to me. I do believe it will require another session, preferably when the temperature is lower and there isn’t a plumber in the house (because distractions do make a difference in my ability to concentrate.) Will I add pink roses? Red roses (also visible from the window)? The birdhouse? This is why we are supposed to do sketches before beginning to paint.
There is a scene I love, something I have wanted to paint for several years. It embodies the best of Tulare County to me – agriculture and the mountains.
I’m not sure where the best place is to set up to paint this, I don’t remember where I was, and I don’t want to go driving around. This scene will lend itself to the plein air style of painting, so why not try it?
Step one.
Step two.
Step three.
Done?
When I finished painting, I snapped this photo and sent it to my mom, a former orange grower. She said, “Where were you?” I said, “In my painting studio, standing in front of a photograph”.
I felt like a poser or a cheater. But why? This is a legitimate way to produce paintings, just different from the layers and layers that I am used to.
Now that I look at the photo of the finished painting, I want to “fix” it, detail it, color correct, tighten up things.
HEY YOU– PUT DOWN YOUR BRUSHES AND STEP AWAY FROM THE EASEL! (or else run the risk of converting it to the style I prefer and thus defeat the purpose of learning to paint differently.)
A friend wanted to hear my thoughts on plein air painting, so I wrote to her about it. Several other friends said they hadn’t known what the words meant until I started my detour down that road. (Or maybe it will become my main road. More will be revealed in the fullness of time.)
Plein air means “open air”. (Thank you, Dan!)
There is a snobbery in the art world, an attitude that real artists paint plein air. Studio artists? Meh, anyone can do that. I had a college professor who belittled those of us who signed up for photorealism studio painting; I quit at 1/2 a semester because he didn’t teach what he dismissed as “smoke and mirrors”.
Plein air is difficult for several reasons, including bugs and weather. There are no boundaries to the scene that ultimately will be enclosed by specific borders. Artists have to be able to see and decide what they plan to paint, ignore what they will not paint, and arrange those things in a pleasing manner. In order to “erase” the unnecessary details, they squint so that nothing remains except dark and light masses. When mixing the colors, the artists come up with an average color for various areas. They simplify textures, and memorize light when it appears in order to put it in at the end. And, it is assumed that a plein air painter will finish the painting “alla prima”, which means in one session.
An aside about the art world: why the extra languages? Plein air is French; alla prima is Italian. Go figure.
In order to finish something alla prima, one has to work very quickly and finish an entire painting within 3-4 hours. Artists who are honest will tell you that many paintings are finished in the studio later. This is possible even without photos, because very little is done with tight detail. The proportions are usually in place, so it is probably just values (the darks and lights) and color correcting that happens later.
The art world loves to throw around the term “painterly”, which I have concluded simply means “messy”. Since I was 8 years old, I have worked hard to see details, to have distinct, clear edges to things, and I find it completely counterintuitive to purposely blur things. But, I am willing to learn, to try, to improve (but how will I know if I have improved or if I have added more details than are allowed?)
Painting plein air is a great skill for several reasons:
Sometimes I need to paint quickly.
There are many people who like the softer, blurrier paintings that lack detail but focus on shapes and colors.
I live part time in a National Park, where being able to paint quickly could be a great business opportunity.
Since taking the 3 day workshop in Georgia 2 weeks ago, I have been able to produce many paintings. (I haven’t shown them all to you.)
So, my conclusion is that the skills are very valuable and that I will practice them: painting quickly, focusing on good composition and correct colors (not entirely perfect, just colors that look right together in a scene). Some of this will be done while looking at a scene in person; some of it will be done looking at photos. I won’t be able to paint like Laurel Daniel, but I can paint more simply than I have in the recent past and still add enough details to retain my own “voice” (and some dignity).
MAY MEANS THE ANNUAL REDBUD FESTIVAL IS COMING THIS MONTH!
So many things to choose from for my final plein air painting.
More “tabby cabins”. I don’t know why that name bugs me. Maybe because it is whitewashing a segment of our history.
THIS is what I wanted to paint, but minus the palms.
Like this, but waiting for the light, which Laurel explained would come soon.
Step one, only 2 hours to complete this.
Step two, adding in the dark colors which make the light places appear.
Step three
Preparations for a wedding on the outside of the chapel. That’s unusual. I thought people got married INSIDE churches. But actually, very few do anymore. That’s a different topic for a different sort of blog.
Time for the critique. I didn’t get a good photo of this painting but have asked my hostess to photograph it for me when it is dry. I left it on top of her refrigerator.
And that’s all, folks. Suddenly, the carriage turned into a pumpkin. I told Laurel that the entire experience was so perfect that I’d think it was just a dream if I wasn’t sweating so much in the humidity.
So, back to the host and hostess’s home in Brunswick, rearrange all my supplies to pack for flying, say a quick good-bye (like ripping off a bandaid), hit the road for a silent drive back to Jacksonville (since I never did figure out the fancy radio), return the car, oops, go back to gas up the car (less than $3/gallon in Florida when it is over $4 now in Calif.), get a ride to the hotel, find some dinner (grits! because I was in the south), fall into bed for a 4 a.m. wake-up call. “Pumpkin”? More like a squash.
It was a fabulous adventure, a time of new sights, learning, friendships, challenges, new wildflowers, and, umm, sweating.
Some of this will look familiar to you, since I did a rudimentary blog post while still in Georgia. Boy oh boy am I glad to be back with my laptop!
This is the continuation of the post on Monday about painting at the private estate on St. Simons Island. There were many possibilities, but I knew the clock was ticking so I needed to make a quick decision. I love architecture, so the back of the house won.
The formal garden with a maze was tempting.
This giant oak with wisteria winding up its trunk was interesting.
The moss was very interestingly weird, but would have been impossible to paint.
Fabulous house.
Simpler angle, and I could ignore the trees in the way.
Step one
Step two
Step three
Step four
Finished? I don’t know, because it looks so messy.
Critique.
This is the front of the house. There was so much to see, and too little time.
