Finishing Up

"Lady with an  Ermine"
Leonardo daVinci, c. 1489

My last post was about the process of starting a painting, so it's only fitting to write now about the process of finishing.  The start of a painting happens very quickly, with each brushstroke following rapidly on the heels of the prior one. But the ending happens very slowly. Toward the end, before every stroke, I pause and consider "Will this help or hurt?" And then there is the ultimate question--is it time to stop? The answer is seldom obvious.

"Patina"
12 x 16, Oil on Linen
(c) Lesley Powell 2016
SOLD

For some artists, a painting is never finished. At least not until it leaves the studio--and sometimes not even then (see below). As time passes, you have the opportunity to reflect on the painting. You may return to it after a few weeks with fresh eyes. Sometimes that fresh vision causes you to notice something that just begs to be adjusted. Then out come the

Getting Started

"Chimneyscape II"

16 x 20, Oil on Linen

(c) Lesley Powell 2018

Available at Shain Gallery in Charlotte

It's my first post of the New Year! As the New Year starts, I have been musing about the process of starting  paintings. When I studied at the Andy Braitman Studio, Andy used to say that "The start and the finish of a painting are both exciting, but the middle is plain ol' hard work." 

What happens at the start? It is pure magic! You are laying in shapes and forming the composition. You can see the picture coming to life on a blank slate. It happens very quickly, with every stroke serving as as an overture to the next. The future of the painting is nothing but possibilities--nothing has gone wrong yet! These are moments of high excitement, no question.

If I'm not thrilled by the start of a painting, if I don't have that "Ahhh" moment when the work suddenly comes into relief, I tell myself not to go forward. I need that initial thrill to push me through the middle phase, which, as Andy said, is a lot of hard work. I want the start to be so compelling that I am chomping at the bit to take the painting to the next level.

A good start makes you excited about the future of the painting. On the other hand, a bad start is very hard to overcome, and usually means that the entire painting will be a big struggle, probably not ending well. If you make a bad start, you fare better to simply wipe it off, and make a whole new start. Thank goodness that the oil painting process makes that entirely possible. 

I'm illustrating this post with some starts of my own paintings.  Stay tuned for upcoming thoughts about the finish!

The Power of Suggestion

"Cyclamen, Colorful Patches"
12 x 8, Oil on Linen
(c) Lesley Powell 2018
(Available)

My last post drew an analogy between painting and music. Today I have an analogy between painting and poetry.  I've been reading about the French symbolist poet Stéphane Mallarmé (and trying, mostly in vain, to read some of his poems--thanks to my musty college textbook on 19th century French poetry).  My curiosity was aroused when I saw this quotation from Mallarmé: "To define is to kill; To suggest is to create." 

"Top of Gordes"
Oil on Linen, 8 x 12
(c) Lesley Powell 2017
(SOLD)

Hmmmm. I was reminded of a common saying among painters, used when one over-works a painting. When you have a fresh, lively painting started, and then you fuss and fuss over it until you have completely zapped the life out of it,

Finishing Touches

"Lady with an  Ermine"
Leonardo daVinci, c. 1489

I have written before about the painter's struggle to decide when to stop work on a painting. Many of us wrestle with the same question: "Is it the best it can be? Is it finished?". The answer is not always obvious. In fact, sometimes we think we have placed the final brushstrokes, but then we change our minds.

"Patina"
12 x 16, Oil on Linen
(c) Lesley Powell 2016
SOLD

For some artists, a painting is never finalized. At least not until it leaves the studio--and sometimes not even then (see below). As time passes, you have the opportunity to reflect on the painting. You may return to it after a few weeks with fresh eyes. Sometimes that fresh vision causes you to notice something that just begs to be adjusted. Then out come the brushes again! Just above you can see a painting that I THOUGHT was finished, until I 

The Finish Line, Part II

"Looking toward Fish Beach, Monhegan"
(c) Charles Movalli

Today I am continuing with the theme of my last post, drawing on Charles Movalli's wonderful essay entitled "In Praise of Painterly Painters." Movalli compares two different approaches to painting, what he calls the "sudden" school and the "gradual" school. The "sudden" school of painters are so-called "painterly painters", who seek the fleeting impression rather than a detailed, finished rendition of the subject. Their work is

The Finish Line

"Jenny"
(c) Robin Wellner, 2016

Some of you may be familiar with the wonderful essay on painting entitled "In Praise of the Painterly Painters", written by Charles Movalli. Movalli writes about the difference between two approaches to painting. One approach gives "all the facts", and presents a smooth, highly detailed, finished surface. The other approach loves to see the brush strokes on the surface of the painting. Far from giving all the facts, this approach happily sacrifices detail in favor of spontaneity. It's this second school that we call "painterly" painters.

Self Portrait
Vigee LeBrun, 1781

The top painting is very painterly--by my friend Robin Wellner. Robin might tell us that it is not quite finished--but I love it like it is. Compare Robin's painting to the second portrait of a young woman by Vigee-LeBrun. The second painting is very much in the "Paris salon" school--which favors the smooth, detailed finish. Both portraits are lovely, though quite different.

Oil on canvas
(c) Robin Wellner, 2016

Movalli notes that the difference between these two approaches involves "the age-old struggle between those who define and those who seek the fleeting impression". Painterly painters seek the fleeting impression. They place far more value on spontaneity than on a detailed "finish". Painterly painters believe that an abbreviated style is best for capturing elusive effects and momentary sensations. Their paintings allow the viewer's eye to complete the work, and give life to it. In other words, the viewer becomes part of the creative process. To me, that is part of their magic.

For fun, I am closing with two more portraits, this time of men. The first, another by Robin Wellner, is very painterly. I love the way the brush strokes show Robin's "handwriting", and how spontaneous the work is. The second, below, is by the great Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli. Truly beautiful. But one would not call it "spontaneous". Goes to show--there is room in this world for every approach to creating art. Viva la difference!

Sandro Botticelli, 1483

Unfinished

"The Athenaeum"
Gilbert Stuart, 1796

I am often drawn to paintings that are not too finished, ones that are toeing the line of being "unfinished". Shown above is a very famous unfinished portrait, Gilbert Stuart's portrait of George Washington. It is quite obviously unfinished---as in, somebody died or quit in the middle of the work. Screech!---you can practically feel the brakes slamming on. Rather than this sort of abrupt quitting in mid-canvas, what I really love are

When is it Finished?

"Red Striped Tablecloth"

24 x 20

It's a questions that I often struggle with: "When is it finished?" It can be hard to know when you have reached the point that your painting is complete, and it's time to stop. I find that as my painting grows closer and closer to its finish, more and more time elapses between each brush stroke. Before each new stroke, I am asking myself "Will this help the painting, or hurt it?" 

If you are a painter, you probably have experienced the anguish of crossing the line into the dreaded territory of the "over-worked". I know I have. Personally, I love to see the mark of the artist's hand, and a bit of a roadmap into how the paint was put on the canvas. In the painting below, I forced myself to stop while the most decisive brushstrokes in the shutters and facade were still evident. I like the geometry and energy they create, and I think it gives the viewer a stronger insight into my process.

"Front Stoop Garden"

24 x 20

(Sold)