Friday, October 28, 2016

Fantastic Paintings by Cornelia and Stephen

Today at the Florence Academy of art was our Friday lecture. It was a real treat because it consisted of a presentation by Cornelia and Stephen, two of our instructors, about their show that is opening at the academy on Sunday.

See the Facebook invitation here:

Bauman and Hernes: Selected Works

Both of them graduated from the Florence Academy at about the same time and have been making paintings ever since. It struck me how different their work is from each other as well as how their talks differed. Stephen opened with a quote from Frankie Valli that goes like this:

They ask you "what was the high point?" Hall of Fame, selling all those records, pulling Sherry out of the hat, it was all great. But four guys under a street lamp, when it was all still ahead of us, the first time we made that sound, our sound. When everything dropped away and all there was was the music. That was the best.

Stephen then went on to describe how he has followed that "sound" which is his in his painting career. And, he showed slides to illustrate that process.
Cornelia, on the other hand also showed us a number of slides, but they were grouped into genre, and she went into quite a bit of detail about the composition and process of painting each one.
Both talks were fascinating, and the work is really beautiful.
The thing that impresses me is that both Stephen and Cornelia were trained at the same school, in the same discipline, and both focus on the human figure as their subject matter. And yet, within this narrow focus, the range of emotions and ideas they communicate in their paintings are very different. Each of them has a unique artistic vision which is transmitted the classical realism of their paintings.
I think that the thing I take away from this is to not be afraid to engage in the styles of mediums that attract me simply because other people already use them and because they may have connotations which with I do not want to be associated. Even though I am being trained in a very particular method, the method is only a vehicle. It is my responsibility to make it my own.














Friday, October 21, 2016

Gesture and Rhythm

Done with week three of my first trimester at the Florence Academy of Art. We just finished up our first 2-week long pose in the model room. This means that for 3 hours a day, every day for 2 weeks, the model stands in the same pose and we draw that same pose on the same sheet of paper for those 2 weeks. The point is not to have a finished drawing in the end. It's an exercise. It involved lots and lots of tweaking. Draw a line, check it, move it. Move the drawing forward, more checking and moving. Once a day, the teacher comes by and give an in-depth critique. 
This week, I received a paradigm-shifting critique from Jordan, one of the teachers and the director of the school. He told me to focus on rhythm and gesture, that my figure looked stiff and dead. Now, this is not the first time someone has told me to, in essence, "loosen up." I remember my high-school violin teacher telling me this over and over again, and I wanted to clock her. 
I felt like clocking Jordan too, but I asked him a question instead. I said, "Jordan, I understand the concept you are telling me, but I do not understand what is means in terms of the marks I make." And, Jordan told me something very interesting. He said that how we look determines what we notice. So, if I am doing a rough diagram of a figure and looking for major points to mark out the big shapes of the body, I am going to be moving my eyes from side to side on the figure and looking for general distances between unconnected points. However, if I am looking for the gesture of a line as it runs down the body, I am going to move my eyes down the line. So, if I want the gesture to be accurate, I have to look for gesture. The difference between a line made my connection accurately marked points and a line made by imitating a gesture can be very subtle, but it is also the difference between a living and a dead thing.
Indeed, Jordan pointed out that this sort of very small variation in elements of a drawing can make a very big difference in the final perception. This comment made me think of an experience I had in college when I sang with a polyphony choir. It was an intense choir. We each had private voice lessons - not so that we individually could be awesome singers, but so that we would sing correctly together. We practiced in sections and in full choir, and we went over the words of the songs so that we could pray them. And, the result was that when singing with this choir it was necessary to deliberately shut off my emotions because otherwise I would be a quivering puddle on the floor. It was powerful stuff, and when we sang for mass once a month, the church was packed. 
I've sung in other choirs since, and they were all fine choirs, and none of them were nearly as obsessive about the quality of the music as my college polyphony choir. Both choirs sang (in many cases) the exact same songs, and both pretty much were on-key and sang the notes right. But, oh, one of them transported you into the realms of God and the other was mostly accompaniment. So, as an artist, one of the things I crave is that kind of perfection. That's why I'm at a school like the Florence Academy. Not sure *what* exactly I'm going to make, but, man, it's going to be good!


Part way through the figure drawing, trying to find the gesture.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Imaginary Animals

And, it's the end of week two at the Florence Academy. I'm still working entirely in pencil, copying Bargue drawings or anatomy drawings, and drawing the human figure from life.
This week, the thing that excited me the most was seeing a dog in my drawing.
See it? He's got an open mouth with his tongue sticking out, facing to the right.
I know, this sounds silly, but bear with me. Cornelia, one of the instructors was explaining using one's imagination by seeing shapes (like animals) in a drawing can help to see the drawing in a fresh way. Drawing involves seeing relationships - relationships of length, volume, value, etc. In order for me to draw, for instance, a hand, I need to be able to visually deconstruct all the visual relationships and see the hand in terms of visual realities. The "animal" trip is one trick that helps with visual deconstruction.
It's funny, I think people think of artist as creative. Sometimes, I'm not even sure was that word means. I'm not particularly good at "coming up with things." I found myself staring at my drawing for quite awhile, trying to see some kind of animal. When the dog jumped out at me, I actually burst out laughing. It was really a surprise, and it delighted me.
Maybe this is significant because, especially in areas in which I may consider myself knowledgable, I have a hard time seeing things in new ways. And, I do think that is part of what art does. It gives a view of something *according to someone.* And, maybe, I see a dog and a spaceship, and a pigeon where other people see a hand - and that means I can represent it more fully and accurately.
So, I'm going to try to see some more dogs this week and be surprised at what jumps out at me.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Week 1 at the FAA

We started Bargue drawings and human figure drawing sessions this week. No evening classes. Here are images of a Bargue drawing and a figure drawing. A Bargue drawing is basically an exercise that involves copying from a 2-D original. A human figure drawing is basically an exercise that involves drawing a 3-D model from life (so, not entirely stationary.)

Human Figure Drawing

Bargue Drawing Original

Bargue Drawing Copy in Progress

The thing which strikes me the most about my first week of class is the sheer quantity of time spent in front of the easel doing essentially the same thing over and over again. Making lines, checking the placement of the lines using a plumb line or skewer, moving the lines, checking them again, looking at the lines in different ways using a mirror or standing back, and on and on. In a certain sense, this work is engrossing. In another, it is terribly boring. The human figure is both a subject and a didactic tool. It is a complex form, and so, I think the idea is that if you can represent the figure, you can represent anything. The standing in one spot is boring. So is the medium - I'm not such a fan of pencil, really. It's all very tedious. On the other hand, it is truly amazing how the relationship between the pattern of lines that make up one side of the human body (when visually simplified) and the pattern of lines on the other side is never the same from person to person, pose to pose, or viewing angle to viewing angle. And, getting those lines right and watching them click and give life to what were previously dead angles, that is nothing short of marvelous. As in, "marvel." I marvel. And then there is no time.
So, what I take from this week is to commit to putting in the time necessary to mastering this process and also to enjoy it. To let myself marvel at the lines.

Back to School

This past week, I started the drawing and painting program at the Florence Academy of Art. A day at the academy consists of 3 hours standing at an easel in my studio and 3 hours standing at an easel in the model (human figure) room. Three times a week, there is a supplemental 2 hour class either on anatomy, figure drawing, or other topics relevant to the kind of art we are making. The drawing and painting program lasts for 3 years. There are three trimeters, and I will have summers off. Given the time commitment, it is likely that I will be much less productive as far as my own personal work goes.
Lately, that personal work has been watercolor landscapes and decorative, concrete paving stones. Both of these types of art are not what I would consider purely "fine art." They are decorative objects. There is nothing wrong with that fact. It is simply worth acknowledging that I make them because they are at some level practical. They serve a function and/or aesthetic need.
At the heart of it, though, art making is a liberal art. (For more on the definition of liberal art, read Josef Pieper's book Leisure, the Basis of Culture.) This means, in part, that in order for me to sustain creative activity, I need to be connected to that source in me that delights in creating for no other reason than because it delights in creating.
This time at the Florence Academy of Art is likely to be a time of intense focus on technical development. I am going to learn *how* to represent things visually in a few specific mediums. At the same time, I hope it will also be a time of deepening my understand of what I, as an unrepeatable person with a unique perspective, must/desire to make. I indent to continue to do my plein air and sell them because, hey, being about to sustain myself financially is a really important part of being free to make those great things I'm going to learn to make. But, again, there's more beyond the landscapes. I can feel it, and I want to dig.
So, what I'm going to try is this: at the end of each week, I'm going to post a reflection on what went on at the academy that week and what that has to do with the big picture of what to make and why. Maybe I'll go beyond that, but I don't know.
Anyways, for an exercise like this, it helps to have an audience. Then I know I am "talking" to someone. So, enjoy...

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Landcape Painting Road Trip: Across the USA in 13 Fields

The story of how this road trip originated is a bit convoluted. Suffice it to say that I had many reasons to go to both Minnesota and California in August and September. As I currently reside on the East Coast, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take a landscape painting road trip. How many times in my life would I get to see the landscape of my country, in an unbroken succession of images, from one end to the other? As a theme, I chose to focus on painting fields, and as beginning and end, I chose the Chesapeake Bay and San Fransisco Bay.
This is a log of that trip.

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A few days before actually leaving on my road trip, I do my easternmost painting: This series begins with the Chesapeake Bay.

Wild Rice Field, Lothian, MD, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 1, Jug Bay Wetlands Sanctuary, Lothian, Maryland
It is midmorning when I pull into the parking area at Jug Bay Wetlands sanctuary. The sanctuary lies on the Patuxent River in Maryland, near where the river empties into the Chesapeake Bay. It is a humid day and the bugs are singing loudly. I walk about a half an hour into the woods by the parking lot and then turn off the path and onto a boardwalk into a wide marsh. I am surrounded by wild rice. Their feathery heads rustle around me like waves in a sea of yellow. This is my first field painting: a field of wild rice. 

The first day of my actual road trip, I start driving from Washington, DC and head northwest into Maryland.

Tuberose Field, Gaithersburg, MD, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 2, Plantmasters Flower Farm, Gaithersburg, MD
At the farmers market in DC where I often sell my paintings, there is a flower stand filled with bunches and bunches of glorious, colorful flowers. They are all grown on just a few acres in Maryland. Leon, the proprietor, has allowed me to come out to the farm and painted some of the fields. Plantmasters, the farm, is about an hour’s drive from Washington, DC. The farm looks like a normal suburban house from the front, but if you walk around to the back of the house, and you will see flowering plants growing lots of different ways: in rows, beds, greenhouses, pots, and inside fences. When I arrive, Leon is tying up tuberoses - bunches and bunches. The Tuberoses are the flower most visibly in bloom, so these are the flowers I choose to paint. They are next to garlic chive flowers and out-of-season peony bushes. Both the tuber roses and the garlic chive flowers are white, so, I end up with a nearly monochromatic palette. The light stems of the tuber roses against the shadows of bushes behind them ended up being the particular beauty of the place that struck me. 
To learn more about Plantmasters, click on their Facebook page:

It is a fairly slow drive through rural Maryland, over the wooded Alleghenies and onto the plains of Ohio. I spend the night just north of Pittsburg.

Goldenrod Field, Middleton, OH, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 3, Chicagami Park of Geauga County, Middlefield, OH. 
Today I attempt to paint a family farm field in Middlefield, OH. I had contacted a farm cooperative to ask for permission; however, as the farmers involved in the co-op happen to be Amish, the only way for me to do the asking is to simply show up and knock. Well, I show up, and no one is home.
So, I drive down the road from the farm, contemplating alternatives. Seeing a sign for Chicagami Park, I turn in the drive. The parking lot looks over a wide meadow of yellow and purple flowers - goldenrod and asian milfoil, I think. Hm…allergies and invasive species. Well, it’s pretty and has dramatic, contrasting colors, so why not? 

The afternoon is spent driving through miles of flat land and farms then crawling through Detroit traffic. My very hospitable aunt in Detroit puts me up for the night and provides me with coffee in the morning. When I ask her for recommendations of fields to paint, she recommends the shores of Lake Michigan.

Dune Grass, Sagatuck, MI, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 4, Sagatuck Dunes State Park, Sagatuck, MI
Sagatuck Dunes State Park right on Lake Michigan, the whole eastern shore of which is piled with sand dunes. It is a cloudy, windy day, and it is raining on and off. I park in the apparently deserted lot and walk into the woods looking for the lake. I can hear the waves, but it takes me a long time to find the shore.
Today’s painting portrays “fields” in a few different ways. The proliferation of dune grass over the whole area constitutes a field of grass. Insofar as the painting shows a grouping of dunes over a large area, this is a painting of a field of dunes. In addition, observing the waves, there are multiples waves over a large area of water. So, any seascape is a kind of portrayal of a “field” of waves. 

Leaving Lake Michigan, I head south and drive under Chicago and into Illinois. There are more corn fields and less traffic than I expected. Oddly enough, I never paint a corn field on this trip. Somehow, it just never seems to be the right time or place to do so.
After spending the night west of Chicago, I head north. Flat land and corn fields give way to rolling hills and more varied farmland of central Wisconsin.

Pumpkin Field, Wisconsin Dells, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day Five, Wisconsin Dells, Thurs. Aug 25
There is an open-to-the-public farm a short drive off the main freeway that passes through the Dells. It features a corn maze, childrens’ play area, a produce store, flower gardens, and big, big fields of pumpkins. The owners let me walk far back away from their storefront, into the fields - which is where I discover this view. Pumpkins hiding under their leaves. 

The hills of southwestern Wisconsin give way to bluffs near the Mississippi River and this is where I spend the night. 

Queen Anne's Lave Field, La Crosse, WI, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day Six, Near La Crosse, WI, Fri. Aug 26
Actually, this is still day five. I arrive at my lodgings in the evening and get all excited about the field of Queen Anne’s lace nearby and paint it right away - no thanks to the goats who kick me out of the first field I try to paint and into an adjacent field. Fortunately, there is Queen Anne’s Lace there too. 

The next day, I cross the river and drive up onto the flatlands of southern Minnesota. More and more cornfields.

I stay in MN for a week, visiting my family. While there, I drive a bit north of the Twin Cities to find field #7.

Prairie Grass Field, Pacem in Terris, St. Francis, MN, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 7, Pacem in Terris Retreat Center, St. Francis, MN, 
There is a prairie at the retreat center. The staff takes very good care of it. At the proper times, they burn it. At the time of year in which I arrived (mid August), most of the wildflower blooms have passed. The dominant feature of “the meadow” - as they call it - is the dried grasses. They stand up, straight and fine, with heads of grain. They are a reddish-brown color. I paint on the edge of the woods, in the cool of its shadow.

After a few more days in Minnesota, I head west again. My grandmother joins me for this leg of the trip. Our first stop is Iowa City, but we start our travels in the evening, and so there is no light by which to paint. After visiting some friends the next day in Lincoln, NE, we spent the night in North Platte, NE. In the morning, Grandma finds me a good place to paint.

Hay and Trains, Bailey Yard, North Platte, NE, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 8: Golden Spike Visitor’s Center and Observation Tower, North Platte, NE
Bailey Yard is the largest train classification yard in the world. The Golden Spike Observation Tower allows visitors to look over the yard and watch its operations. I sit in the open-air deck and paint the part of the yard containing the diesel repair shop. Next to it lies a field of newly baled, small, square hay bales. So, this painting shows a field of square hay next to a “field” of trains.

The next stop is Denver where we say hello to my cousin and his fiancĂ© over local beer and a game of cards. After a good night’s sleep, we take a little foray into the Rockies.

Mountain Meadow, Estes, CO, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 9: Behind the Starbucks, Estes, CO
The town of Estes is the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park. It is set up in the mountains high enough so that the arid foothills around Denver and Boulder give way to evergreen forests. Because we do not have time to actually go into the park, we make do with searching the main street of town for a good field to paint. We were well rewarded. There is a beautiful, little brook that runs through town, just behind all the tourist and outdoors shops. I sit on the rocks on the bank and paint the sun slanting through dried grasses under the evergreens on the opposite bank of the river. 

After Estes, we drive down through Thompson Canyon to Fort Collins to visit an old Minnesota friend. She feeds us well and sends us on our way over rolling hills to the little town of Rawlins, Wyoming.

Sage Brush Hills, Rawlins, WY, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 10, Behind the Depot, Rawlins, WY. 
Incidentally, after discovering Bailey Yard, we find ourselves paralleling train tracks for the rest of our trip west. Indeed, as far as I can tell, I-80 (the road we took) follows roughly the same path as the original trans-continental railroad. So, in Rawlins, it seems appropriate that the best view I can find of the sagebrush covered hills is from the steps of the train depot. Midway through the painting a large train pulls up and blocks my view entirely for about half an hour, so some of this painting is completed while peering through the space between box cars.

Continuing west over more and more rolling hills, we finally descended into Salt Lake City.

Pampas Grass, Salt Lake City, UT, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 11, By the Super 8, Salt Lake City, UT
Originally, I had thought about painting the salt flats. They would have been a “field” of salt. However, the view from our hotel is so striking that I paint that instead. It even includes a train. Yes, trains are a theme on this trip. The field between that train and the hotel parking lot is a field of what is called (as far as I can tell) pampas grass. It has large, wheat-like heads that are slightly purple. The other grass in the field is straight and wispy. I paint as the sun is rising.

We then cross the salt desert and proceed onto the high desert of Nevada. 

Mown Hay, Lovelock, NV, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 12, Lovelock, NV
Driving west on I-80, Nevada appears to consist of a series of barely green valleys ringed by very dry mountains. One of these valleys, about 100 miles east of Reno, contains the town of Lovelock. It has a diner, a few hotels, a coffee shop and a car wash - all the comforts of home! At the edge of town is a field of recently mown hay edged by a windbreak of trees. Having so much enjoyed painting at dawn the day before, I decide to try it again. So, this painting also is a bit golden colored. 

After washing the bugs off our car, we continue west, through Reno, up our highest mountain passes yet, and down, down, down, a long slope into Sacramento and finally to San Fransisco where I drop off my Grandma at my aunt’s in the suburbs and continue on to my brother’s apartment in the city.

Salt Fields, San Fransisco Bay, 16"x12" Watercolor

Day 13, San Fransisco, CA
I have reached my destination: San Fransisco Bay. On the recommendation of my brother, I choose for my “field” to paint the salt evaporation ponds on the south end of the bay. Next to the ponds is the Don Edwards Wildlife Refuge, and it is from a hill in this refuge that I paint this “field.” Like the painting of Bailey Yard, this painting contains two “fields.” The marsh in the foreground is a field of various salt marsh plants with a slough snaking through it. The ponds in the background form a “field” of many slightly different colored pools. 


Looking at all the different paintings of fields, the viewer can see that I have approached the concept of fields as a way to see large areas containing many of the same object - fields of grass, fields of dunes, fields of flowers, fields of trains (to push the definition a little). All of these, taken together and seen under various lights, form a variety of beautiful patterns. Thank you for reading about my trip and looking at the paintings. I hope you have enjoyed my patterns and and that you will see many more of your own today.

Prints of any of these images can be ordered by clicking the link below the painting.

A big thank you to all the people who helped, lodged, or fed us on our trip: the Carriers, Aunt Marcille (& Bruce in absentia), Teresa, my parents, the Villas, Spenser, Kelsey, Mary, the Chows, and Andrew.

Bethany Lee


Tuesday, August 9, 2016

For several months, I've been focusing on small, 5"x7" landscapes. In preparation for a project (More to come on that, soon!) I'm starting to do some larger pieces. Here is this morning's, painted at a spot to which I keep returning. The bridge/trees/shoreline make a beautiful, layered composition.
Rock Creek Bridge 4, 12"x16" Watercolor, Rock Creek Park, Washington, DC