Nicolaides words

Fetch

Original oil painting 18x24"

by Susan Roux

After dozens of suggestions from Don to buy Nicolaides, The Natural Way to Draw, I finally own a copy. I haven't posted for awhile because I've been toiling over this painting. Do you ever do that? Toil? I have grunts and groans, huffs and puffs of exasperation that pour uncontrollably from my body. I throw my brush down, take a few steps, turn to look at my work through a mirror, exhale deeply with thrust and return to do another stroke. The level of concentration is so great that each stroke seems a massive effort. In the beginning of Nicolaides book, I read a new word to describe this. Painstakingly.

It describes my efforts to a T. It's miles away from having "fun" on canvas. It's deep and concentrated and a place I don't always get to while painting. It renders with precision and every now and then, I find it necessary for what I'm trying to achieve. In this particular case his sweatshirt became the challenge. I wanted it to read oversized. My fear was making him just look fat.

The secret was in the folds. Nail the folds and it will look correct. So I spent hours and hours and days and days on those folds. Long days.

I was pretty content with the results. I know these images are inferior as usual and some of the values and transitions are incorrect. But still, I feel I captured so much extra space in his sweatshirt that you could almost crawl right into it with him. Painstakingly. Yeah, good word.

Nicolaides had another word to describe a painting method. Ferociously.

Now doesn't that conjure up a great image for you? He ferociously put paint to canvas. The release expressed in that sentence is massive. It reminds me of my initial block in. Some parts go on slower, but I definitely have moments of ferocious strokes. Spontaneity and determined force are things I associate with that. I often call it scribbling with paint. My backgrounds certainly fall into that category. This is where I'm in fear of having too much fun on canvas. Sometimes it's tempting to call a painting finished after ferociously blocking it in. It's full of freshness and personal emotion. It's easy to feel connected to it, but rarely my best work.

The biggest challenge I had with this painting was trying to keep enough spontaneous looking strokes to achieve movement. The tightness of the folds made this difficult. I found myself softening them a bit in the end. I felt I had to overcompensate by making my loose strokes extra loose, otherwise it all looked too stiff.

There lies a balance in there somewhere. I know I have a lot to learn before perfecting it. Maybe it never gets perfected. A juggling of the right amount of painstakingly and ferociously applied strokes. The yin and yang of art. Balance. Rhythm. A poetry of color...

The journey continues.

Paint the poetry

Garden Stroll

Original oil painting 24x18"

by Susan Roux

I've had the pleasure of interacting at length with some of you lately via email. I have to tell you how fun and helpful it has been for me. I hope you feel the same way.

Have you ever noticed when you try to explain something about your process to someone, it helps you improve? We already know what we're doing (well at least most of the time) but putting it into words helps bring every aspect of our process to the forefront.

While talking to another I spoke of attempting to paint the poetry. My dictionary describes poetry as a special intensity given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm. I like these words. Special intensity, style, rhythm, the expression of feelings. Nowhere in this is anything about details or precise representation. The focus is on feeling, style and rhythm.

Doesn't that just put a whole new spin on everything?

All these years I've been trying to paint the elements in my composition and it turns out that wasn't the challenge after all. Paint a unified feeling on your canvas. Think of ambiance. You know, like that nice candlelit table setting you'll be preparing for your sweetheart on Valentine's Day. You'd pay attention to every detail so the whole entity, including tablecloth, candlesticks, dishes, flowers and vase would support an unmistakable feeling of romance. Yes the wine and dinner are probably your focal point, but everything about the table supports this feeling of love.

And so it must be with art...

I thought I finished Garden Stroll the other day. I knew she wasn't as strong as my other girls in this series. I placed her in a garden and trying to interpret this new style in a landscape was challenging. I had put her aside, but was left a bit dissatisfied. After talking to an artist about how I take a long time tweaking my paintings with the idea of painting the poetry in mind, I looked at her and realized I stopped short of what I wanted to capture. Does this happen to you?

You set a painting aside and next thing you know, it calls you back.

I couldn't ignore her. She was really urging me to continue. I'm glad I put her back on my easel. I'm much happier with the results. I may not be capturing the whole poetry thing, but I think I'm on the right track by having it in mind.

Do you ever paint the poetry?

Beach morning

Beach House

Original oil painting 18x24"

by Susan Roux

This painting was off to a great start. You remember how exhausted I was when it first started pouring out of me? Well it wasn't without some toiling and suffering before it reached completion.

Its becoming a trend.

I'm not sure why, but it seems they all have a great start. I'm encouraged and inspired. But when it comes to the finish, it starts to breakdown. After this happens on too many paintings its easy to get yourself hoaxed, creating an unnecessary fear.

Yesterday Svetlana came to paint for the day. She said my problem in finishing was only that I was tired. She thinks I'm spreading myself out too thin and when the mind is tired, completing a painting becomes difficult.

Her words were comforting to hear.

So with a tiny bit of additional strokes this painting found itself. I have so much trouble capturing my art in photos, so I'd like to inform you that it is soft and dreamy and not stark as it appears here. For some reason, the softness shows up much better in the close-ups. Therefore I've included some for you...

I really neutralized the background to depict distance. Detail on the house is kept to a minimum. I left a one-inch hard edge on the sun/shadow corner and a longer strip under the overhang to lead the eye. The windows however were left ghostly. I wanted the feeling of a house without the painting being about the house. I was interested in capturing the morning light.

Svetlana called this my waterfall of leaves.

I remember this day at the beach house very well. My brother-in-law does work for the owners and often invites us. Its a rental property on the ocean with a private beach that expands a long way. Nearby is a small public beach. The two are separated by a long rock jetty that is only exposed at low tide and covered with slippery seaweed. Few people trudge across the breakwater, leaving the private part very private.

We had been invited to spend the weekend.

How glorious an invitation! We slept in the bedroom at the left front window. Its yellow and sunny with a white sheer curtain that blows gently into the room when the window is open.

The window is always open...

The sound of the waves either keep you awake, or put you to sleep. I love listening. The window overlooks the ocean which is facing east. As the sun began to rise, the wonderful morning light woke me up.

I slipped out of bed quietly, put on my clothes, grabbed my camera and tiptoed out the sliders to walk the beach.

I stayed out for nearly an hour. In complete solitude I enjoyed the morning light, brilliant with intensity, warm my body as it rose. I was so absorbed in the moment, cherishing it all. I watched as the colors which kissed the seascape changed from yellows to pinks.

The waves with their rhythm broke gently as they reached the shore. Seagulls danced at the edge, their white feathers catching the light.

Oh, it was a wonderful moment indeed.

As I returned to the house, I caught the image that inspired this painting. It too was standing there watching and absorbing the morning sun...

I wasn't alone to view the splendor after all.