"Backbeat" began like a lot of my paintings do---by applying acrylic paint to paper using a sponge roller. Then I add a bit more paint and start to see something take shape. In this case it was a figure, but it wasn't clear what kind of figure. The drummer came from a suggestion a fellow artist made during a critique session. Something about the shapes suggested a drum kit, so I delved into that idea with gusto. But I struggled along the way with color and how much detail to include. I've included a progression slideshow of "Backbeat" below. Once I made my final corrections, I knew the painting was complete. This piece won an Award of Distinction in the WSO Spring Show in Bend, Oregon from juror Vera Dickerson.
In April, I gave a talk to the Watercolor Society of Oregon entitled "Is It Finished?". My digital slideshow was full of before and after images by artists who'd given me permission to share their work with the group. Naturally, I included many of my images, too, and one of my favorite examples is my painting "Backbeat #1" (acrylic on paper, 10 x 14"). "Backbeat" began like a lot of my paintings do---by applying acrylic paint to paper using a sponge roller. Then I add a bit more paint and start to see something take shape. In this case it was a figure, but it wasn't clear what kind of figure. The drummer came from a suggestion a fellow artist made during a critique session. Something about the shapes suggested a drum kit, so I delved into that idea with gusto. But I struggled along the way with color and how much detail to include. I've included a progression slideshow of "Backbeat" below. Once I made my final corrections, I knew the painting was complete. This piece won an Award of Distinction in the WSO Spring Show in Bend, Oregon from juror Vera Dickerson.
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The end of 2022 is fast approaching and many of us ask ourselves "where did the time go?". Those of us who are lucky enough to call ourselves artists (or more accurately, "people who make art") can point to the work we've created during the year and know that we've been measurably productive. Results may vary, since larger works may take an artist months to finish while artists like me (who work on paper in smaller sizes) can end up with a pile of paintings that number in the triple digits! In my defense, I've been painting over a lot of my lesser works, and delighting in the many complex layers I've created in my recent paintings. Each year, I take stock of what I consider to be my "best of" paintings. This evaluation process helps me decide on what series I want to continue to work on, what I want to do less of, and where I ultimately want to focus my time and energy. To that end, I create a file folder on my PC, and drag images into that folder that I think were important to my artistic development. These images run the gamut from successful show paintings/award winners to humble experiments that didn't quite click, but still moved me in a new direction. I print out little thumbnail images, paste them into a notebook, and write a few sentences about *why* a particular painting is important to me, and what I learned from making it. It's a kind of personal "greatest hits" but it's also a distillation/concentration of where I'm at in my life and how that's reflected in the art I create. One thing that moved me in a new artistic direction was rather unexpected. This past February, a friend told me about a free ZOOM mini course taught by CA artist/art coach Nancy Hillis. On a whim, I signed up. Hillis favors an abstract gestural style of painting and her mantra (which I embraced) is "surprise yourself every day in your studio". That one directive stuck with me. For a month, I dribbled acrylic inks over old paintings, and let things RUN amok! The results were, indeed, surprising and unlocked a new path for me: creating non-representational paintings! I started using this method whenever I got stuck or hung up on a painting that wasn't working, and I ended up with some surprisingly effective results. Here's just one example of how I used this method to fix a painting that wasn't working. The painting on the left contained a figure that I wasn't particularly fond of (the head/hair wasn't quite right) but I still loved the yellow and green colors and knew I could capitalize on that. Once I started applying black acrylic ink with a brush, and adding some mid-tone purple, I was in the groove! I ended up with what I feel is a nice variety of shapes and harmonious colors in this small 11 x 14" painting "Down the Garden Path". At no point was I afraid of "ruining" this painting because I figured had nowhere to go but up! I've embraced that philosophy for the past decade or so, and it's resulted in some revived-from-the-dead paintings that exceeded all expectations and even SURPRISED ME! As I wrap things up for the current year, I am also gearing up for 2023. I have earmarked paintings for entry into national and regional exhibitions with January deadlines, done an inventory on my frames and mats, started planning for my solo exhibit at the Coos Art Museum in Coos Bay, Oregon in October, and organized materials for the ZOOM workshop I'm teaching in February.
All of these tasks are part of being an artist; they add rhythm and structure to my days, and keep me actively involved in the greater art community--for which I am extremely grateful. I never get tired of looking at the jumble of colors, shapes, and marks on my painted or marbled papers as I try to coax out the subject matter hiding within. A woman who purchased one of my marbled paintings remarked "You are so good at pulling secrets out of paper!" which seems like the perfect way to describe my process. Recently, I tried something really wild and crazy while dropping acrylic colors into my marbling tray (to later be transferred onto my paper). Using an eyedropper, I carefully applied color to the tray in a swift, circular fashion, creating a kind of "ring" of colors (black on the outermost edge, and then white, and some teal). Needless to say, the resulting paper was pretty wild--even by my standards. Later, when I assessed the papers I'd marbled that day, this odd ball "nucleus" pattern baffled me. What was I going to do with this strange pattern? Add more circles or ovals? Paint over parts of it? I tried many things---stenciling on part of it, covering places with darker tones, but I had NO IDEA what the end result would be. And I was OK with that, because I love the challenge of not knowing where my painting is headed. I figure it'll all work out in the end (and it usually does). I let the painting sit for a day or so and then went back to it and did something that helps me forge ahead when I'm stuck: I turned the paper in different directions to see if some idea jumped out at me, and fairly soon, I sketched a woman in a wide skirt (one of my tried and true favorite subjects). Now it was just a matter of painting the space around her so she would "pop" and be more noticeable. I'm not quite done with this painting yet, and I don't have a title (that always comes at the VERY END) but I like the direction of this piece. It was a hard-won struggle, but I rose to the challenge! When I create acrylic marbled papers, I often produce "dud" papers that are too pale, or uninteresting, or otherwise uninspiring to me. I save these in a big pile in my garage, and when I'm in the mood to repurpose them I sometimes marble these papers a SECOND time. This practice of overmarbling can lead to some interesting patterns (or, in some cases, a muddled mess!). The trick is overmarble big patterns onto small ones, or circular patterns onto stripes. In this case, I had a beautiful overmarbled paper (on 140# cold press watercolor paper) that I thought I could perhaps turn into a painting. The circular marbling (a modified "tiger's eye" pattern) looked, to me, like hydrangea flowers, so I thought I'd try that idea. I drew the vase and outline shapes of the flowers using water soluble crayon but everything was the same general color and value. Using acrylics, I painted teal in the background but that was too solid and boring, so after that dried, I used thin automotive detailing tape and applied it in striped formation on the teal. Then using a foam roller with off white acrylic paint on it, I lightly went over the teal section and then I pulled off the thin tape. It left a nice striped pattern in the background. I had some stenciled collage paper (on thin deli wrap) that I cut out for the tablecloth underneath the vase. I used a white acrylic fine tip pen to scribble a pattern all over the flower heads. But the overall shape of the flowers seemed awkward and I realized I wouldn't be able to easily fix it since I'd covered up so much of the marbling with acrylic paint. I set it aside and then the next day, I went for broke and started dribbling paint and water spray on the painting, thinking I'd make it into an abstract piece. But then I turned it horizontally and realized I could salvage a smaller bunch of flowers and shape it differently. I painted aqua onto the vase, glazed the hydrangea heads with orange acrylic (not a typical hydrangea color, but I've seen it) and then added a bit of collage paper on the middle/upper left of the painting to tie it to the collage paper on the right hand side. Not bad for a painting I was about to give up on! By turning it, I was able to look at it another way and realize I could still create a vase of hydrangeas---different from my original vision. "Hydrangeas in Vase"; acrylic marbling on paper, 12 x 18". Most artists are good at starting a painting and getting it about 90% done. The hardest part of finishing a painting is that last 10%. Those finishing touches can make all the difference, and take a painting from GOOD to GREAT.
I used to tell myself that a painting was done when I was tired of messing with it, but in reality, I lacked the expertise to TELL whether or not my painting was complete. Some of these paintings got into local shows, but many did not. These "almost finished" paintings languished in my garage until years later when I unearthed them, and examined them from a more experienced perspective. Suddenly, I knew what the paintings needed! In many cases, they lacked dark and light values, a good variety of shapes, soft and hard edges, or CONTRAST (one of my favorites). I'm proud to say that I've shortened the length of time that a painting languishes in the "almost finished" stage before I can call it DONE! These days it only takes me a few weeks or months (instead of years) before I figure out how to put those last important touches on my painting. I'm grateful to members of my trusted critique group for helping me take second look at my paintings to make sure there's nothing further I need to add or take away. It's not about being "picky" or perfectionist, but rather about making the painting the best it can be. In the end, I want viewers to focus on the story of the painting, and not the mechanics or techniques I used to create it. I first painted "Determination #1" (acrylic on paper, 11 x 17") last year and I THOUGHT it was finished. I entered it in a few shows, but it was not selected by any juror and I couldn't quite figure out why. A few months later, I showed it to my trusted critique group and they made a few suggestions for improving this painting. I followed some, but not all, of their advice but the tiny corrections made all the difference. "Determination #1" was one of 95 paintings chosen by juror Linda Daly Baker from 591 submissions for the 42nd Annual San Diego Watercolor Society International Exhibit. If you look at the before and after images, you'll see 2 small but important changes. First, the black sweater was at a diagonal and formed a point where it met the green in the background. To correct this visual tangent, I overpainted the skirt and shortened/straightened the sweater. I had to sacrifice the transparency of the green skirt by adding opaques, but I think it was the right decision. I slightly enlarged her left boot so the pointed heel was minimized. Now her feet were properly grounded and her body/stance communicated the story I was trying to tell. Those 15 minutes of additional brushstrokes were well worth my time! It is March of 2022 and I haven't made time to write a blog this year, so I'll remedy that now. For the past 20 years or so, I've been painting my version of the human form (made up from my imagination most of the time), and I love this subject matter more than any other (even birds, which I paint a lot of!). Lately, though, I've been shaking things up a bit by working on a new series of abstract, non-representational paintings. It all began in February when I attended a ZOOM lecture by artist Nancy Hillis in which she encouraged artists to "surprise yourself" every time you begin/create a painting. It was an "ah-hah" moment for me because I'd gotten into a bit of rut with my work--resolving each painting in a similar way. Boredom was looming on the horizon, so her online lecture was just the motivation I needed to change my approach. I adopted a "what have I got to lose?" attitude and pulled out all the half-baked paintings that were lying around my studio (we're talking double digits here). I realized that however much I stared at these paintings (many of them were started 6 months ago) I had lost interest in finishing them in my usual manner. So I did what Nancy had suggested: I surprised myself! I found my stash of Daler Rowney acrylic inks (in little glass bottles with droppers) and started dripping, spraying, and generally working without a paintbrush in hand to rework these old paintings and transform them into something completely different---abstracts! I must have done a dozen of these in a day---filled with joy at the many possibilities in store, I squeezed out ink, sprayed with water, and let things run and blend on my paper. I followed Nancy's advice: don't judge or assess the work right away, but rather, let the painting sit and then revisit it later. One by one, I set to work on each painting and by the end of day, I was tired but happy---I had repurposed all of these "dud" paintings and surprised myself in the process. I used this new approach for a month, and though I have gone back to painting my figurative works, my approach to HOW I paint and resolve each painting has become more free and open-ended. Progression Slideshow: "Let The Light In #1"; acrylic inks on paper, 12 x 18" It's been a year to remember--no doubt about it. COVID and its variants still dominate the news, and uncertainty about returning to the (new) normal has many of us feeling on edge. And yet, because of the efficacy of vaccines (leading to fewer hospitalizations), I'm more optimistic than I was at this time a year ago. We've got a long way to go, but my hope is that we'll get there--if we retain our humanity and work towards relying on and supporting one another. As we approach the end of the year, I thought I'd share some things that went well in my (art) world and how grateful I am for the people who made my life better in 2021. My interactions with others were mostly by phone (calls and texts), email, and zoom, but they all contributed to my well-being and my sanity, if I'm being honest. Some highlights:
"Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you I have been changed for good." -- (lyric from the musical "Wicked") "I was working on the proof of one of my poems all morning,and took out a comma," wrote Oscar Wilde. "In the afternoon, I put it back in again". I think most of us can probably relate to this quote by Wilde. For me, revision is an essential part of my artistic endeavors. We artists often spend our days trying to get a painting finished to our satisfaction as we consider each stroke of the brush. It can get a bit obsessive if we're not careful, but it's just our way of trying to control our creative universe (as if that were even possible). If I am very lucky, I can bring a painting to completion and never retouch it because I know that it's truly finished. But often I just stop working on a difficult piece (or I call it done when I know it really isn't finished). Those paintings get stacked in a corner of my garage and when I am ready, I pull them out and completely rework them. Sometimes I marble over them, and other times I simply paint over them in acrylics and obscure most of the original painting. But I love the challenge of starting with SOMETHING on the paper or canvas as opposed to a blank slate. It's very liberating to know that I've got nothing to lose. Case in point: My painting "The Come-On" (which still might not be finished!) has gone through so many changes since 2016, that I almost gave up on it. But since it is a canvas, and I couldn't crop it down like I can with paper, I felt obliged to at least TRY to revive it over the years. Yes, you read that correctly--YEARS! Click on the slideshow to see the progression that this canvas went through from landscape to figures to solo figure until it became two larger figures. How many hours and pints of paint did I spend on this painting? I don't keep track of that info, but I do take pictures of my paintings in progress, so I know where I started and how I got the painting to its current state. As artist Stan Kurth often says: "a painting isn't done until it sells and I can't work on it anymore!". For me, painting is all about the art of the possible--what *COULD* be. It's up to the artist to coax out shapes, colors, form using the materials at hand (paint, collage papers, etc) to produce a visually exciting painting (or at least that's the goal). I used to begin a painting on a blank, white piece of watercolor paper, but when I switched to acrylic painting and acrylic marbling in 2007, I often found it easier to start with blobs of amorphous color and create a painting that had several layers of color peeking through. This method creates depth, mystery, and a bit of happenstance---I don't know what my finished painting is going to look like, but that's part of the excitement. I feel driven, energized, and compelled to keep going as I respond to what is happening on the paper. Some of my best paintings have arisen out of this process because I just LET GO of the outcome and concentrate on PAINTING. When I marble papers that have been previously painted (in watercolor or acrylic), I layer new colors and patterns over old color. I often start with the back of a watercolor "test" page (blobs or marks of color are on the paper in a random fashion). Several of my artist friends have given me their old "junk" paintings to marble in exchange for one of my finished paintings. I sometimes wipe off some of the watercolor paint with a sponge before preparing the paper for the marbling tray. My aim is to marble in a way that obscures most of the original image, but still gives me a few little random shapes to deal with when I set about to finish the painting. I've included two examples of this process--one is a finished landscape by artist Alisha Whitman, which I marbled, cropped, and over-painted, turning it into vase of greenery. The other started as a watercolor "test" paper from artist Leslie Dugas (which I turned into a figure). This is one of my favorite ways to paint on my marbled papers and turn old subject matter into something completely different. Obviously, I don't enter these "collaborative" pieces into juried shows (whose rules insist on the work being done by one artist), but these experimental paintings push me to innovate and improvise--what more could an artist ask for? Marbling Make-over: "Green Abundance #1" (from Alisha Whitman's watercolor) Marbling Makeover: "Frozen" (from Leslie Dugas' watercolor)
How do we know when a painting is finished? It's finished when...
My most successful "do-overs" are those in which very little of the original painting is visible in the final version. For whatever reason, I find it less intimidating to cover up an old painting than to face possibly "ruining" a fresh piece of expensive paper. A painting that's already in the junk pile can't get any worse, right? I've revived hundreds of paintings this way, and each one is a triumph of will----sort of like solving the Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle, but with a paintbrush. Below is one of my recent makeover paintings---I transformed it from figures to flowers in the course of a day. It's all about knowing what to cover up and what to leave alone. And as always, I try to balance the color, shapes, and composition to create a pleasing finished piece. "Floral Trio #3: Blue Flowers on Orange"; acrylic marbling on paper, 13 x 13". |
Artist Liz Walker
I'm a painter/art instructor who lives and works in Portland, Oregon. Archives
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