This article is the second in a series of “studio visits” about the development of my current series “In Sunlight” (2010 – 2011). Nearly all the pieces in this series are mountain subjects. Find out more about the paintings in this series in Part 1 – Genesis of a Series and Part 3 – Beyond Value with “Border Peak in Sunlight”.
December Peak, 2010, oil on gessoed Arches watercolor paper, 10 x 10 inches.
All of my paintings begin with an observable phenomenon that inspires a visual idea. This subject, Pinnacle Peak as seen from Paradise on Mt. Rainier, interested me enough to take a photograph, but it wasn’t until more than a year later that I saw a potential composition — a narrow selection that would focus on the bold patterns of light and shadow on the side of the peak.
The white box in the photo shows the portion of the overall subject that would become my composition. By exerting a very limited focus — and eliminating anything that didn’t directly support the design — I actually increased the focus on the patterns that are of greatest interest to me.
Above left: I often generate digital studies which let me explore a variety of approaches very quickly. A series of filters applied in Photoshop distorts the subject and begins to suggest its abstract qualities. It also tests the idea of using more heightened color to suggest the sunlight on the mountain, instead of the white in the photo. Although the blue of the mountain’s shadow is quite radiant, I am curious to see if I can pull off using warmer colors.
Above right: Initially, I thought this would be a one session painting, so the initial block-in is fairly painterly. From the start I am thinking about the value and temperature differences between the light and shadow areas. How light in value can the shadow side be? How much color can be infused into the sunlit areas?
Above left: In the next stages, I continue to modify the colors. I know the result I want, but I’m not entirely sure how to get there, so a little experimentation is necessary. I also continue to build up the surface texture. The initial layer of thick paint, plus the texture of the cold press paper, helps with this.
Above right: By the final stage, I’ve spent a good deal of time refining the shapes to help suggest movement and the upward thrust of the diagonal light plane. To bring the light and shadow zones into alignment, I allowed them to share color: small hints of yellow in the shadow portion, and small hints of cool in the light portion, help unify the two areas of color. Thus, they are comprised of similar colors but in differing proportions.
Below, a detail from the bottom middle portion of the painting shows the surface texture.
Additional Resources from Landscape Painting: Essential Concepts and Techniques for Plein Air and Studio Practice
Color Mixes for Light and Shade, page 112
I like both the painting and the demonstration of successful disassociation with the colors of the photo. You have produced a much more interesting painting by not tying to the white and black and extreme contrast the photo suggested and its blue sky. Personally, the hardest part for me would have been setting aside the photo’s blue sky and the relatedness of that story to the sun and shadows on the mountain. But I can now see that a bright blue sky would have been like placing a clock in that corner, excessively drawing attention to itself and, by stating a precise time of day, conflicting with the timelessness of the painting. A clear blue would also clash with the otherwise harmonious warmth of the painting and its atmospheric nature. Thanks for the great demo! P.S. Was there a logic to your build up of texture, where and direction, and degree?
Good observations, Gerry. I always abandon the color in photograph and try using my own color scheme. In general, I believe that relying too strongly on photographic color is one of the biggest mistakes a landscape painter can make. As I say in my book, “If the painter’s subjective interpretation of color didn’t offer something more than what a photograph can convey, then photography would have replaced painting a long time ago.” In answer to your question: Was there a logic to my build up of texture, where and direction, and degree? Absolutely. In paintings such as this, where traditional cues like overlap and volume are nearly absent, I rely on variable texture to help imply space. For example (although it’s not entirely visible in this small reproduction), there is less texture in the upper right quadrant — upper hillside and sky — than there is in the lower half. And there is almost no texture at all in the sky except for that provided by the paper itself. Farther away = less texture. Closer = more texture. In the shadows in the lower left, there is the strongest buildup of paint. In some schools of thought, it is said that shadow areas should be thin and transparent; however, here that would have made the hillside sink back, and I most definitely wanted to encourage it to come forward.
Thank you very much for the demonstration. I especially liked how you left the shadow side relatively light and the explanation that you put a little of the light side color in the shadow and vise versa. Also your explanation to Gerry about how you vary the texture is very helpful. I have your book which I love. I’ve recommended it several friends.
In the past one hundred years of painting we have “broken away ” from traditional ways of depicting nature. I’m reading a great bio of Henri Matisse, one of the leaders in this movement, which emphazises the breaks with tradition that have carried on through the century. Landscape today can be about depth, like before, but also about pattern, texture, color, or other concerns, with or without the depth — and be no weaker a painting because of it. What matters is the intention and result, not abiding by rules we no longer need. Diebenkorn exemplified landscape about paint, texture, color, and a two dimensional pattern, with depth’s role lessened. To me, the December Peak painting is also about color and patterns and texture, with depth as a minimal concern.
Good observations, Stan. The only thing I would add is a fine point about spatial illusion. As you say, intention really matters. Matisse’s flatness is very intentional. However there are times when the flatness in a painting is not intentional, but an accident — for example, when the painter sets out to create a spatial illusion, but due to some error or misjudgment, it appears flat. That resulting flatness is not equal to the flatness of a work that by design, is intended to be flat. A painting may be entirely flat, entirely dimensional — or a combination of the two. But a combination can often be problematic as the viewer experiences tensions between the dimensional energies and the flat energies. It’s a real challenge getting flat and dimensional to play well together in the same painting.