Familiarity Breeds Comfort

If you subscribe to the blog and read the email on your phone, the photos might not show up. (Some people get them, some do not; it isn’t a problem I know how to solve.) You can see them by going to the blog on the internet. It is called cabinart.net/blog, and the latest post is always on top.

“Familiarity breeds contempt” in some cases; in the context of my oil painting endeavors, familiarity breeds comfort. “Sawtooth Near Sunnypoint #8” is signed, sealed, and delivered, another commissioned oil painting in the archives.

This means I can move into another comforting subject, one that I love to paint, although this one has its own challenges. This oil painting commission came with much freedom. The customer didn’t care what orchard as long as it is oranges, wasn’t concerned about the foothills, and after much conversation (“Really, you must care about something specific here!”), he decided that Sawtooth and Homer’s Nose made the most sense for the visible peaks. His focus is the children, and he provided good photos.

If I were a loosey-goosey painter, this would be close to finished. Alas, I am a painter who loves detail and when this dries, I will begin drawing with my paintbrushes on this Tulare County classic view.

 

A New Oil Commission

If you subscribe to the blog and read the email on your phone, the photos might not show up. (Some people get them, some do not; it isn’t a problem I know how to solve.) You can see them by going to the blog on the internet. It is called cabinart.net/blog, and the latest post is always on top.

Custom art, or “commission” work might be the most satisfying piece of my business. I am painting something that someone really wants, painting with confidence that it will be loved, and confidence that it will be sold. 

Artists can be so insecure. We pour ourselves onto paper or canvas, creating something that really lights our fire, getting lost in the process, and then . . . what? Nothing happens.

So, when I get a commission, particularly one of something that I am familiar with (orange groves, sequoia trees, Sawtooth, cabins, or anything Mineral King), it is a real pleasure to paint.

Beginnings

The customers chose 16×20″. I primed the canvas, assigned an inventory number, and wired the back. Pippin hung around, but wasn’t interested in the details. (And the vase of lemon geranium may have repelled the mosquitos.)

It was near the end of the day, and I was in danger of falling into Idiotville, where Stupid, Sloppy, and Careless reside, so I set it aside for the day.

And this is how it looked after the next painting session:

That again? 

Yeppers, this time in oil paint instead of pencil. Not sisters this time—a brother and a sister, different grove. And no deadline, so I will spend oodles of time make this piece of Tulare County art perfect.

Oodles, I said.

Really Painting Sawtooth Again

If you subscribe to the blog and read the email on your phone, the photos might not show up. (Some people get them, some do not; it isn’t a problem I know how to solve.) You can see them by going to the blog on the internet. It is called cabinart.net/blog, and the latest post is always on top.

I really am painting Sawtooth again. In fact, I finished the painting.

Clear, enlargeable photos, along with an operational swamp cooler, good podcasts, and nothing difficult hanging over my head made it easy to just git ‘er dun instead of looking for excuses to stop because it was too hard. Oh wait—must be experience that created the momentum.

See the South Fork Estates sign through the easel? That odd job is completed, which is why there is nothing hanging over my head. 

Here is the progression: I have finally learned how to scan and photoshop this size of painting in spite of it being too long for my flatbed scanner. When combined with Photoshop Junior, I can patch the 2 scans together.

This is not that; this is too wet to scan. But, it is finished!! Only took me seven times to get comfortable enough with this scene to be able to stretch it into a 6×18″. 


Maybe, Maybe Not

When I look at a finished painting in person, it seems truly finished. This painting signifies the best of Tulare County to me, and I am not always objective.

However, when I look at a photograph of the painting on my screen, sometimes things appear that weren’t all that noticeable in person. 

Here is a progression of the untitled painting that is finished, or maybe not.

Tuesday morning overview.

Tuesday morning lower right corner, unfinished.

Wednesday morning lower right corner, finished (but in shade so hard to tell what is what).

May I be finished now? Better put it in the sunshine for a truer color photo.

Now may I sign it, and then paint the edges? 

Maybe, maybe not. Better let it mull a bit, study, scrutinize, put on my truth glasses (just a figure of speech) and try to be objective.

Or maybe I should show the customers and see if they think I am finished.

Maybe, maybe not. 

What is this mess?

When I paint commissions, I go through stages something like this:

  1. Not sure, but I will try
  2. Piece of cake
  3. What is this mess?
  4. What have I gotten myself into?
  5. I’ve got this.
  6. What is this mess?
  7. Who told me I could paint?
  8. Ooh, I love to draw with my paintbrush!
  9. What is this mess?
  10. Oh my goodness, I think I am going to finish soon!
  11. What is this mess?
  12. Make a harshly honest list and fix those things.
  13. Can’t find another thing to fix, better sign it and get it out of my face before I mess it up.

This was probably about step 8.

Then I hit step 9.

I painted for a morning, repairing all sorts of messes, drawing with my paintbrush. Can you see the improvements?

 

Now it might be at step #10.

It looks wrong in this light. But you can see that only a small portion in the lower right hand corner remains untouched. I might hit a couple more “What is this mess” stages. I went a little nutso trying to get the highway better, narrowing the driveway at the bottom, detailing the rows of citrus trees more, adding in a few more buildings and tightening up the ones that were there, and planting a couple of new groves. I did not darken the blue mountains but actually lightened them. However, this is not apparent in the poor light of early afternoon photography.

Then I had to quit because my friends were waiting for me to come over and make some more stepping stones.

More remains, but the fat lady will be warming up her vocal cords soon.

Dragging it Out

This commissioned oil painting is highly detailed, in spite of the fact that it is a landscape. People who see it want to know where it is, where I was when I got my photos, what are they seeing. 

It is impossible to put in every single grove, building, road, dirt road, and random tree. I enlarge the photo on my laptop to an astronomical size in order to see what the tiny spots are, decide the main landmarks that would be helpful to the viewer, try to get them in the right place, and then use my tiniest paintbrushes to indicate them.

Can you see the added detail?

Every time I work on this painting, I have to change things that I thought were right. 

I am not worried. There is still time to finish and to finish well, believably, and with confidence that this will be my best work.

But maybe I should put more hours into this custom oil painting and stop making stepping stones.

Two Commissions, Continued

This is the best photograph I was able to get of the Fiftieth Bouquet. (It just occurred to me that I may not have actually titled the painting!) I was able to eliminate the shiny spots but cropped the left side a bit. One of the things that is always pounded in all art advice workshops, classes, books, and websites is to hire a professional photographer for one’s work.

Fall down laughing.

That might work for people who just complete one painting a month and then sell it for $5000 or $50,000, but that is not the way things work for this Central California artist. So, I bumble along with my PHD* camera. (My more expensive cameras have broken so I no longer waste money on them.)

I also inched along a bit more on my favorite subject.

Can’t wait to get back to this one, but then I will finish and have to say goodbye to it.

Life is a series of decisions, choices and consequences.

*Press Here Dummy

Mired in Detail

After spending a good chunk of an afternoon drawing with my paintbrush, perfecting the detail on the 50th Anniversary Floral Bouquet oil painting, I had a real hankering to return to the commissioned oil painting of my favorite subject. “Slamming out” some quick small paintings for the Redbud Festival just wasn’t lighting my candle.

This painting was calling my name.

I began texturing the distant hills. 

Then I built a few roads.

If this wasn’t a commissioned piece, it would go in my dining room. I can paint another for myself, but there is enough other (PAYING) work that it is not a priority. 

So, I will enjoy the process of being mired in detail for someone else’s happiness. Snow, GREEN, poppies, CITRUS. . . the very best that Tulare County has to offer. (But remember, we have bad air, high unemployment, diabetes, teen pregnancies, high welfare, no Trader Joe’s or Whole Paycheck grocery stores, and a severe lack of education. Just sayin’ in case you were thinking of bringing some big city values to our little piece of California’s flyover country.)

What Matters on a Commissioned Oil Painting

This wisdom about perfecting a painting is from Betty Edwards, most known for her book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. She also wrote a helpful book about color, helpfully titled Color.

  1. Do any of the lightest lights seem to pop out rather than staying anchored?
  2. Do any of the darkest darks seem to carve holes?
  3. Does any area that is not the main event seem to fight for attention?

Turn it upside down to evaluate for these next questions:

  1. Does it seem heavy on one side or the other, or on the top or bottom?
  2. Does anything seem out of place, either too bright or too dull?

I evaluated the anniversary bouquet painting using these questions. It went from looking like this:

to looking like this:

Then I incorporated the very apt suggestion from reader (and friend and former drawing student) Nikki to make the edges of the carnations more fringed. Here is better fringiness on the left side:

And the not yet fringed right side for your comparison:

Then I fixed the hanging ribbon, the patchy-looking background, the repaired coaster, a dab here and a touch there, and finally added in a little something on the bottom left quarter.

Now it will dry, I will continue to mull it over, study it, and eventually, I hope to find the courage to sign it and call it FINISHED. (Mr. and Mrs. Customer are no help in this finalizing and nitpicking because they have been thrilled with the painting at every stage!) 

P.S. It looks better in person; there are weird shiny spots because so many parts are wet.

 

 

Oh, Those Red Carnations

The carnations were last seen at this stage. The coaster, vase with stems, bows, vase-base, roses, and even the curly willow weren’t up to the level that Mr. and Mrs. Fifty Years deserve.

What’s a Central California artist to do?

Well, just keep licking the canvas, of course. (Don’t get your knickers in a twist–it is only a figure of speech.)

When an item is complicated with subtle angles that matter, I turn it upside down and copy exactly what I see. Okay, not EXACTLY, but as close as I am able on the angles and proportions that matter. The coaster beneath the vase is a real bugger-bear, to quote my friend Ft. Worth Jim. (who pronounces his name “Jee-im” as if it has 2 syllables). 

(Hi Gnat!)

Where was I?

The upside down coaster, while looking at the upside down photo on the laptop screen.

There are many details to it, details that can be ignored because it is not the reason for the painting.

The roses are Very Important to the painting. Carnations have their own happy prettiness, but roses are pure elegance.

Can I be finished now?

Nope. Here is some self-talk: Study the photo of the painting, evaluate the things that matter, speculate on what could be better, touch up those little items, strengthen the contrast, soften the irrelevant parts, and don’t sign it until you have taken it to the nth degree.

Yes, I know, the painting has come a very long distance from its humble beginning of red blobs, seen here. But the fat lady has not sung. (Someone bring her another cookie, please.)