My painting “In Transition (Getting Through It)" has been accepted into the 102nd Annual Hoosier Salon Arts Exhibit. It is always an honor to be included in this prestigious show, though this one is especially meaningful to me because of the painting itself.

 

I paint landscapes in oil. Many landscape artists simply try to make a beautiful piece of work that represents the scene before them. There is nothing wrong with this. There are landscape paintings where that is my goal as well. But there are also special pieces where I try to convey a deeper, more personal emotion through the landscape. This is one of those paintings. I feel it is a seminal work in the direction I want my art to take.

 

I was recently let go from my job of 25 years. I was going through an emotional transition in my life before this event, it suddenness has had an impact on me and has forced me to look at my life once again. Transitions are hard. Like the butterfly in the cocoon, we often can't see ourselves in the mush. But I have to believe there is a bigger reason behind it. I try to believe that a butterfly will emerge when this is all over. That is what this painting represents. This transition. The sun setting on one part of my life, the uncertainty of what follows, and the guiding light and opening that allow me to get through it to the other side. 

 

Last year, I was commissioned to create two large paintings commemorating a special trip to Holland. I sometimes refrain from accepting commissions for places I haven't visited, because capturing a location's true spirit using only photographs can be challenging. However, given my Dutch heritage, I felt compelled to take on this project. While I was granted considerable creative freedom, my goal was to depict something that would evoke their memories of an unforgettable vacation. 

The client sent me images of their trip, and we had an initial meeting to discuss potential painting ideas based on those photos. Afterwards, I returned to the studio and created a few small, quick studies, which I shared with them to confirm I was heading in the right direction. They quickly favored two of these studies and and gave me the green light to move forward with the work.  

 

 

 

The initial studies shown above were created on 6 x 8 inch boards. The images show where I taped off the boards to help get the correct proportions for the final piece. In the first study, you can see where I initially taped the board, but after working on the understudy, I re-taped it for a better composition. The old, red study beneath the re-taping is still visible on the board. For the last study, you can see remnants of an earlier value study that I painted over. I often reuse my boards by painting over previous works that I no longer want or need.

I started with the larger painting, a 48 x 60 inch piece. 

This artwork isn't depicting a specific location but instead is meant to evoke the feeling of Holland with its tulip fields and farms. I wanted to capture the beautiful color and patterns of the fields, as well as the vast, flat vistas of the landscape. Although I have never visited the Netherlands—despite it being part of my heritage—I've always known windmills are associated with the Dutch landscape, and a national symbol. However, my client highlighted how crucial windmills are to the Dutch people, not just as industrial structures but as tools for water management. They help drain excess water from the fields by channeling it into canals, enabling land reclamation.

 

I was looked at numerous references for this painting—photos that were supplied to me, pictures on the internet, and artists like George Hitchcock that painted the Netherlands in an impressionistic manner. I wanted to keep this a little loose, especially in the flowers. I didn't want to overstate and paint each one, but to imply them by painting a few realistically, and the rest abstractly, letting your eye fill in the rest. 

 

Pure Holland! oil, 48 x 60 inch, oil on linen

 

The second painting measures 36 x 48 inches and depicts Zaanse Schans, a historic site in the Zaans region. Since it depicts a real location, is slightly smaller, and I was working from more accurate photo references, I found it somewhat easier in many respects. However, it also posed its own challenges. I reworked the water up until just a couple of days before delivery, just in time for varnishing. The background town across the river took a considerable amount of time to refine the shapes and values to get it to feel right. I ended up reworking this piece more than the first one, but that's all part of the process. 

I also did more studies to help figure out areas, like the water and the clouds. Here are a few of those.

 

The original study, oil, 6x8 in.

A quick cloud shape study, oil, approx. 4x6 in.


Getting more information and definition at a larger size, oil, 9x12 in.

One of the things that the client and I discussed was the use of green on the buildings. In the 17th century, green pigments became more accessible and affordable in the region. They were often sourced from natural materials like copper, which was available through trade and local industries. The green paint applied in Zaandam served more than decorative purposes. Crafted from a blend of linseed oil and copper-based pigments, it offered strong protection against the Netherlands' challenging, moist environment. This significantly helped in preventing rot and decay of the wooden structures.

Now I understand why my grandfather's house was painted green, including the dark green front door. It always seemed like a strange color to me, especially compared to the neighbors' houses. I can see now how it may have brought him comfort as a second-generation immigrant, and my grandmother, a first-generation immigrant.  but I'm sure it felt comfortable to him, as a second-generation immigrant, and to my grandmother being a first-generation. 

Here is the final oil painting, 36 x 48 inches. 


Zaanse Schans, 36 x 48 in., oil on linen

To illustrate the scale, here are a couple of photos of the paintings beside my house. You can see how much the larger painting covers the red, side door. Yes, I often photograph my paintings this way, although I typically do so on my west-facing back deck rather than the north side of my house. 






And for your enjoyment, here are some process photos.


             

 

      

 

      

You can view the final images of the paintings earlier in the email.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my painting process and how I treat commissions. If you are considering having a commission created for you, please reach out to me and let's start a discussion.

– Mark

After a relaxing weekend at the Renaissance Faire with my family, I'm geared up for this weekend.

First off, Kim and my duo show has the closing reception on Friday. This is the last day to see the show and work will be taken down when it is over. Kim and I will be there and will give a brief talk about ourselves and our work, with a Q & A afterwords.

Secondly, the Chesterton Art Fair is this weekend. I am at Booth #82. The weather looks gorgeous, so I hope you can make it out.

Mark and Kim Vander Vinne's Duo Exhibit

Closing Reception: Friday Aug. 1st, 6–8 PM EDT

Heartland Art Center
214 N Michigan St.
Plymouth, IN 46563

Chesterton Art Fair
Saturday, 10 AM - 5 PM CDT
Sunday, 10 AM - 4 PM CDT
Dogwood Park
Chesterton, IN 46304
Booth #82

 

A couple of weeks ago I participated in the Wayne Plein Air Festival in eastern Pennsylvania, just outside Philadelphia. It was my first time at this event, and my first time really staying in the area. I’d driven through Pennsylvania years ago on my way to Maine and found the ladnscape beautiful then. This time I was here to paint and show my work alongside 31 other plein air artists—some of them nationally known. This can be a daunting endeavor if I let it.

I usually get nervous walking into unfamiliar places, especially when I don’t know anyone. That was still true—but the nerves didn’t feel quite as sharp this time. Maybe it was because I’d just won two awards at First Brush of Spring. Maybe it was because I knew Lon Brauer was going to be there and we had just had a good conversation at First Brush, which eased my lack of familiarity of the event. Maybe it was because I’d survived Door County last year, despite my insecurities tagging along. Or maybe it’s the personal work I’ve been doing lately, the quiet inner shifts. Whatever the reason, I felt ready. A little anxious, yes—but also grounded.

After packing up my gear, I made the twelve-hour drive on Saturday and arrived at my host family's home around 8 p.m. Deb and Keith were the perfect hosts—warm, easygoing, and generous enough to give me full run of the fridge. What more could an artist ask for?

Sunday, May 4th, Day 1:

The artists were treated to breakfast at the orientation on Sunday morning—an unexpected and delicious surprise. Having everyone gathered in one place gave me the chance to catch up with art friends and meet new ones, something that wouldn’t happen again until the gala on Saturday night.

 

After the meal, the organizers went over the expectations for the week. As I sat listening to the list—which was  comprehensive, yet surprisingly familiar, yet flexible enough to allow freedom for the artist to go where they wanted—I started to feel nervous. That old, familiar feeling of not being good enough crept in, as it sometimes does.

 

Lately, I’ve been doing some inner work around that. At the top of the first page in the folder we were given, I wrote, "Be You." A mantra for the week, and a quiet reminder to trust myself. I belonged there.

 

It might be hard for some of you to believe, but I still get overwhelmed by insecurity. I’ve learned how to manage it better and I’m more open about it now, but it still shows up from time to time.

 

After orientation—and a group photo—we were free to start painting. The sky was gray and threatened rain, but it mostly held off. I spent a little too long driving around to get a feel for the area, since I’d never been there before. Eventually, I found a spot in an undeveloped subdivision off Wayland Road and painted two warm-up pieces: an 8" x 8" panel titled One More Again and a 6" x 6" nocturne, Electric Blue Lullaby (seen below).

 

Electric Blue Lullaby, oil, 6" x 6"

Monday, May 5th, Day 2:

The next day threatened more rain, and after driving around for a bit, I ended up at Ardrossan Farm. Joshua Cunningham was painting across the road, on the other side of a bridge, looking back at the farmyard. It was a little too close to the road for my comfort—but who am I to judge, considering some of the questionable places I’ve set up my easel over the years?

 

What’s Behind the Door? was the third painting I completed during the event, and probably the most challenging of the week. The combination of weather, subject matter, and the tricky perspective of the hill and building made it tough. I managed to get most of it down that day, but I returned on Friday morning for a few quick touch-ups. On that day the sun was out, which allowed me to add some stronger shadow shapes—I think they really helped to define the structure.

 

I was lucky to meet the farm manager and his wife, along with their two dogs, Bourbon and Bella, who lived in the main home. We had a fascinating conversation about the farm and how it’s run. Later, I found out that the building I’d painted was just used for storage—with a toilet in the back for the help. Of course, I ended up captivated by what might have been the least interesting building on the property, instead of the grand, historic stone farmhouse they lived in. Typical.

 

What's Behind the Door?, oil, 9" x 12"

Later that morning, I set up at the corner of Darby Paoli and Sawmill Roads to paint the cattle—yes, in the rain. Welcome to plein air. It stayed misty most of the time, with one sudden burst that had me scrambling to pull out my umbrella to shield my painting, easel, and myself. Thankfully, it passed quickly, and the rain held off until I was finished.

 

The cattle, however, weren’t quite as cooperative. At first, they stood in the perfect spot. Then, as the rain picked up, they moved under the trees for shelter—that’s where they were when I blocked them into the painting. Eventually, they wandered off to a far field where I could barely see them.

 

Like the previous piece, I had it nearly finished in one session, but I knew I’d return another day to complete it.

 

There's Always One, oil, 12" x 12"

In the afternoon, I found a pull-off on White Horse Road where I could get my car completely off the road and still have enough space to set up and paint. I was lucky to discover a scene that really lit me up—exactly the kind of subject I love. Trees and a field. I ended up painting there three times over the course of the week and easily could have done more.

 

One of those pieces, Horton’s Path, was initially painted under an overcast sky. I liked where it was going, but I eventually returned to it, feeling the gray sky wasn't creating enough emotional interest.

Tuesday, May 6th, Day 3:

It had rained most of the morning, and the day was similar to the previous one, which gave me the perfect window to return to Sawmill Road and finish the cows in There’s Always One. Just as I was packing up my gear, I got a call from Joshua Cunningham who was painting at Kirkwood Preserve. So, I headed over to join him where we painted in the tall grass. (The photo of me at the top was taken by Joshua while we were there.)

 

A little later, John Caggiano arrived, and while I was putting the final touches on my painting, Hai-Ou Hou stopped by to paint as well. She stayed closer to her car and out of the grass. At one point, her easel blew over in the wind—but with a good laugh and no hesitation, she had it set back up and was painting again in no time.

 

It was at Kirkwood that I painted Between Rain and Sun which would later have a different story attached to it. By the time I started setting up, the clouds were shifting and beginning to break apart. I painted quickly, trying to capture that magical glow in the sky where the thinning clouds let the light spill through. At one point, the clouds split just briefly, and a single beam of light stretched across the grassy hill before closing back up. I caught it quickly—knowing it would become the heart of the painting. By the end, though the clouds had mostly dispersed and the scene was well lit. I was glad I captured the scene that excited me at first.

 

Between Rain and Sun, oil, 18" x 18"

 

That afternoon, I returned to White Horse Road to revisit what would become Horton's Path. With the sun beginning to set and the clouds breaking apart, I finally had the beautiful sky I had been hoping for. I think it made the painting. Surprisingly, I didn’t have to adjust the trees or the field much, if at all—the early evening glow on the clouds just brought everything to life.

 

After that, I pulled out a panel to begin a 14" x 14" nocturne. I toned the panel with my traditional pink color, and as I was blocking in the large shapes and masses of the trees, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, a woman on horseback strolled up on the other side of the gate where I was standing. She asked what I was doing, so I explained I was painting and told her about the plein air event.

 

She asked if she could see the painting. Since I had only just begun the nocturne, I showed her the piece I had just finished instead. She loved it. She introduced herself as Colby, and her horse—an elegant 16-year-old Off-the-Track Thoroughbred—was Horton. She told me she rides him there three times a week, and that the field is deeply meaningful to her.

 

She showed interest in the painting, so I gave her my card and the postcard about the event. Later we discussed a title for the painting. I was thinking of calling the painting Horton’s Path or Horton’s Trail, but I didn't tell her that. So, when she suggested Horton’s Path, I knew serendipity had shown its face. That became the title—and she ended up purchasing the painting.

 

Horton's Path, oil, 11" x 14"

 

After she left, I went back to painting the nocturne, which I would come back to and paint over three consecutive nights. 

 

When I got back to my host's house late that Tuesday night, I picked off three ticks from the tall grass at Kirkwood and another one in the morning. Hai-Ou was wise to stay out of the grass and on the parking lot. Such is the life of a plein air artist.

 

Wednesday, May 7th , Day 4:

It was the first full sun day. In the morning I was at Chanticleer Gardens, where I painted the back of the main house. An attendant came up to me and told me the original house, which was behind the trees on the right, was Dutch in style, but the original owner wanted the addition that I was painting to be French, so the architect had to come up with a way to make the two styles work together. It's pretty cool the information you gather when you're just standing around painting. 

The French Addition, oil, 12" x 12"

 

t was the first full day of sun. That morning, I was at Chanticleer Gardens, painting the back of the main house. An attendant approached me and shared a bit of history: Mr Rosengrten, Sr. and his wife had the original house built in a traditional Dutch style completed in 1913. In 1924 an addition was added, but they wanted it to be French in style. So the architect, Thomas Sears, had to find a way to blend the two styles into a cohesive whole. It’s one of the things I love about plein air painting—you’re in the world, and the world talks back. People stop to share stories, and you end up learning things you never would have otherwise.

 

When I finished the painting, I called Farley Lewis to see if he wanted to grab some lunch. He told me about a farm he’d spotted in Birchrunville. I searched for a place to eat nearby and found the Butterscotch Café. We agreed to meet there before heading to the farm to paint.

 

It was a forty minute drive, and when I arrived, I accidentally walked into the wrong door—an entrance to the post office. The postal worker kindly redirected me with explicit instructions to the building across the street. He reminded me of a character in a Norman Rockwell painting, a greatly paintable face and that small-town warmth. I crossed the street and saw Farley through the café window—just as I noticed the sign said "Closed." Their hours ended at 2 p.m., and it was already 12 after. I tried the door anyway. It was unlocked, and I offered an apology as I entered, knowing I was pushing my luck.

 

The young woman behind the counter smiled and said they could still serve me, but only from the cold menu. That was fine with me. She began listing options—"We have curry chicken..." “You can stop right there,” I said. “That sounds delicious.” I grabbed a blueberry soda from the fridge and spotted a case of pastries. I added a blueberry tiramisu and a strawberry rhubarb tart to my order. Strawberry rhubarb is my favorite, matched only by chocolate-covered cherries.

 

I ate the sandwich on the spot, but tucked the desserts into my cooler for later. I stored them in my host’s fridge that evening, planning to enjoy them the next day—but as it turned out, I brought them all the way home and shared them with Kim. Even after the long drive, they were still delicious and worth every penny. I must return there and get some more.

 

Worn and Weathered, oil, 12" x 9"

 

Thursday, Day 5:

As I mentioned earlier, I returned to Ardrossan Farm in the morning to finish What’s Behind the Door?

Later, around 11:00, I decided it might be good to paint a town scene. I drove through several nearby towns searching for something inspiring, but with it being noon, parking was hard to find and the sun nearly overhead, casting few shadows. Nothing really caught my eye. Eventually, I found myself back at the White Horse Road pull-off to work on the nocturne again. While I was there, the farm’s owner stopped by in her truck and mentioned she had seen me painting there before. We chatted about my work and the festival, and she kindly invited me to come paint at the farm anytime. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to take her up on her offer.

 

With the sun going down, but not quite ready to set, I pulled out a small 6" x 6" panel and painted Three of a Kind. If you look at the three paintings I created in that one spot, you can almost see them as a little series: Horton’s Path straight ahead beyond the gate where I stood, The Moonlight Dance just to the right, and then a bit further to the right, Three of a Kind. Of course, I took some artistic license, but they remain mostly true to what I saw.

 

Three of a Kind, oil, 6" x 6"

The Moonlight Dance, oil, 14" x 14"

 

Friday, May 8th, Day 5:

It was rainy again, and I decided to fulfill a dream of mine and drive down to the Brandywine Museum in Chadds Ford. When I was going to art school in Chicago, there was an N.C.Wyeth exhibit going on. Hard to believe now, but at the time, I wasn’t very familiar with his work—and, unfortunately, I missed the exhibit. It’s something I’ve regretted ever since, so I wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass me by.

I met Lon Brauer there, though I was running late while he had arrived early. I started on the second floor, taking in paintings by Jaimie Wyeth, a few by N.C. himself, and Carolyn Wyeth. I had seen an original Jamie Wyeth before in a Denver exhibit—a painting of a turtle on a log that completely blew me away. His crow and pig painting here at Brandywine were just as breathtaking, full of skill and quiet insight. Carolyn Wyeth was new to me; I hadn’t even heard of her before this visit. Though she didn’t produce as many works as her renowned family members, what I saw was deeply moving. Her paintings were darker in tone and simpler in execution, but their emotional power was just as strong.

I then made it to the third floor where I took in the Andrew Wyeth portrait exhibit going on. Again, exquisite in technique, composition and emotion.

 

Finally, I made my way to the last room, which showcased illustrations from the Brandywine era—including works by N.C. Wyeth, his teacher Howard Pyle, Frank Schoonover (also a Pyle student), and others.

 

As I expected, N.C. Wyeth’s work was the highlight. His masterful use of shape to build intriguing compositions is unmatched. For example, look at the painting I know as Blind Man Pew—an illustration for Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Pew’s dark cloak and attire create an irregular, shadowy shape that merges seamlessly with the shadow on the ground, including that of his walking stick and tricorne hat. Positioned close to the left edge of the canvas, Pew’s placement adds an unease to the scene. The stark, monochromatic contrast of light and dark heightens the tension.

 

But what truly struck me was Pew’s tooth—bright, sharply defined, and almost glowing in the moonlight. It draws your eye in a way that’s almost unsettling, adding a haunting desperation and creepiness to the painting. The actual title of the piece is an excerpt from the book: “Tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades…” It’s a perfect encapsulation of the mood Wyeth captured so vividly.

 

Another illustration by N.C. Wyeth that left a strong impression on me was The Death of Edwin from The Scottish Chiefs by Jane Porter. The scene depicts two men looming in shadow above a moonlit corpse, pierced by an arrow in the chest. Photos simply don’t capture the power of this piece—the figures were barely visible in the dim light, while the moonlight cast an ethereal glow over the fallen Edwin. The atmosphere Wyeth created was haunting and unforgettable. It truly was a remarkable painting.

 

In the late afternoon, I ended up at The Willows Park. Here I started a small piece just to get some painting in. I wasn't very happy with how it turned out, so it never saw the light of day. That happens sometimes. 

 

Saturday, May 9th, Day 6:

I had a little time to paint in the morning and headed out to the corner of Brooke Road and Darby Paoli Road to capture the reflections in a pond. It was the last painting I completed that week. I struggled with the shifting light, but overall, I was pleased with how I captured the abstract reflections. Like my very first painting of the week, I didn’t get a photo of this one worth sharing. Afterward, I painted a piece as a gift for my host before returning to prepare for the big gala.

 

Usually, I get nervous before galas at these plein air events, but this time felt different. I knew I had painted to the best of my ability and, overall, I was happy with the work. I had truly followed the mantra I’d written on the first page of the folder: Be You. Throughout the week, I reminded myself of this—painting what I wanted to paint, how I wanted to paint it, and savoring every moment, even when battling the weather or the challenges of a painting.

 

The gala itself was an incredible event, the result of countless hours and hard work from many people. The artwork on display was stunning, the food was delicious, and the atmosphere was vibrant and exciting. I couldn’t believe how perfect it all felt. I sold six of the eleven paintings I had hung that night—a thrilling achievement. To top it off, I received a cash award for Best Depiction of Light for Between Rain and Sun. It was truly a night to remember.

 

When the evening finally wound down and I returned to the quiet of my room at my host’s house, I reflected on the week. I had done what I set out to do: I had shown up as myself. Maybe that’s why I won the award or why those paintings sold. Maybe not. But what I do know is this—being true to who I am felt like enough. And for once, that was more than enough.

 

I'm excited to announce a new 2-day landscape workshop. This one will focus on taking the complexity of nature and simplifying it to create a powerful painting. You'll learn what to look for in a scene, how to interpret masses and shapes into a value plan, the keys to creating a focal area, and how to see and capture the information of a scene to make it look and feel real.

Who: Mark V. + You

What: Simplifying the Landscape: a 2-day Workshop

When: Friday - Saturday, May 30 - 31, 2025, 9: am - 4: pm

Where: Crooked Tree Arts Center, Traverse City, MI

Why: Because you have a desire to grow as an artist and most workshops teach technique, not how to see and think about art.

 

You can find more information and sign up here:

 

 

 

 

 

On Mother’s Day, I woke up with a swollen neck and some pain. As the day went on, the pain worsened, and by the next day, it was excruciating. A sonogram revealed two masses, and a biopsy confirmed squamous cell carcinoma in the lymph nodes. While the diagnosis was shocking, by the time I received it, I had already begun mentally preparing myself. What’s not conveyed in this simplified version is how long I lived in uncertainty. What began on Mother’s Day wasn’t confirmed until the end of June. After that, there were more tests and ongoing discussions about treatment options. Throughout it all, I continued attending plein air events, teaching workshops, working my advertising job, and carrying on with my everyday life. Literally a day before the Hoosier Salon award ceremony, I had seven lymph nodes surgically removed. Meeting the governor's wife in front of an audience, high on drugs and a bloodied bandage on my neck is not the ideal first impression. 

 

The good news is, it was always going to be curable—slow growth, small cell, and we caught it early. While I’m still being monitored, I am currently cancer-free—and I expect that to remain the case.

 

Still, there were unsettling moments. During the period of uncertainty, I did my best to keep calm—focusing on the facts and not worrying about the unknown. One night, I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I did what I said I wouldn't do. I Googled masses in neck. Sure enough everything that came up dealt with cancer. So, with masses in my neck but no clear answers, I asked myself, "If I only had a year to live, how would I spend my remaining time?" The answer came clearly: I would spend it with the people I love, doing the things I love. In short: Kim, my kids, art, and travel.

 

This has become my intention: to live more openly, authentically, and with purpose. This journey has sparked deep internal reflections, helping me align my dreams and values with my actions. I believe you will notice those intentions as the days, months, and years go on. Stay tuned.

I am please to announce that I have a painting published in Plein Air Magazine. My painting "Where the Light Goes" is on the first page of the Branching Out article on painting trees, something that I truly love to do. The shapes and colors will never cease to inspire me. I continue to find new compositions using those simple elements. It goes back to my memories and love of pushing paint around to see how the colors mix. 

 

The scene was painted in Dubuque, IA during the Bluff Strokes Plein Air event and was the first painting that sold for me there. It was a beautiful late summer evening, and I had to work quickly to capture that light as the sun was going down. I was conscious keeping the shapes irregular and unequal and the subtle colors shifts in the main trees. But more importantly I wanted to ensure I captured the mood created by that late light. 

I couldn't be more thrilled that it now gets to be seen by many, and not just the ones that attended the event. I don't ever do this alone. Thanks must go out to Gina Ward for letting me know about the opportunity (more than once), and the editors at Plein Air Magazine for choosing to publish my painting when, I'm sure, there were tens or hundreds they could have chosen instead.

 

My painting "Seems Like Nothing" recently won the 2nd Place Award at the 200th Annual Hoosier Art Salon Exhibit. This feels incredibly humbled and honored for many reasons, and even a few weeks later (sorry for the delay) I'm still on a bit of high from it all.

I have always held the Hoosier Salon Art Exhibit in high regards, and believe it to be the premier art exhibit in the state of Indiana. And with it being the 100th annual exhibit, I knew full well it would be difficult to get into the show. When I heard the news that my painting had been accepted, I was elated. I was also excited for my wife, Kim, who got a truly wonderful watercolor in as well.  

To give you a sense of scale on this, here are a few facts. 266 Indiana artists entered this year's call for entries. Of those, 122 artists were accepted. There were 675 works entered and 143 chosen by jurors Qiang Huang, OPA-SM, and Jill Stefani-Wagner, PSA-MP, IAPS/MC. 

The painting started as a small 6" x 6" plein air study (Off Road Beautiful) in Dubuque, IA, and was the last painting I did at the 2023 Bluff Strokes plein air event. I did it for myself after all of the paintings had been turned into the event and it was never shown. I can still remember the soft wind and the smell of the cow farm nearby. Luckily, the wind was blowing the opposite direction, so the odor didn't waft over to me too often.

From an artistic perspective, I was wanting to capture the rolling hills that I love so much from the area I grew up. I also wanted to challenge myself with the design. How could I make the focal area further back and have a large empty area in the foreground, with a strong angle of the hill, and still make it interesting to the viewer? As usual with my work, it's all about shape, color and mood. Oh, and those trees. Man, I love trees!

What most of you may not know is I had a cancer scare when painting this piece. It started on Mother's Day and continued throughout the summer. My neck had swollen quickly and I was in debilitating pain. After some tests, they found cancer cells in my lymph node on the right side of my neck. To keep this short, more tests were done, and we were going back and forth with how best to treat it. In the end, we believed surgery was our best option. So I set up the appointment. Then I get a call from Mike Quinn asking if I was going to the show opening. I explained to him I may not be able to, but if I could, I would.

I had surgery the day before the exhibit opening where my doctor removed seven lymph nodes from my neck. The day of the show, since my doctor told me I couldn't drive, I made the decision to have my mother drive down to Indianapolis (about a 3-hour drive) to go to the opening. Luckily, she was over from Iowa. Those who went to the show saw that I had a huge bandage on my neck that had some blots of blood. This bandage was not to be removed until I saw my doctor two weeks later. So I'm sure it was a sight for people. 

After going through many awards, I thought there was no way I was in the top four award winners. I mean, yeah, Mike Quinn encouraged me to make it if I could, so there was a possibility, but it's never a sure thing. As I always say, I have high hopes, and low expectations.  I never want to expect to win an award, but that doesn't mean I don't hope to win one. So when my name was called for the 2nd place award, I was reeling – and not just from the medication I was on. My knees felt like rubber walking up to receive it. And then to meet first lady of Indiana, Janet Holcomb, was thrilling. Sadly for her, I know she had to wonder what was up with my neck, and I felt a little sorry for her as we got our picture taken together. 

Anyway, I can't thank everyone involved in the exhibit enough, from the juror's to the Hoosier Salon and beyond. It was a truly thrilling moment in my art career, and one I am sure to never forget.

 

Off Road Beautiful
oil
6" x 6" 

 

Seems Like Nothing
oil
20" x 20"

I am pleased to share with you my latest artwork called "Breeze". It's an oil painting that measures 20" x 20" (unframed) and beautifully captures the uplifting feeling of the summer wind as it blows across the midwestern landscape. The trees sway in harmony with the wind and the clouds move slowly across the sky, creating a serene atmosphere. You can find this artwork at Bell St. Gallery in Bayfield, WI. Please visit the gallery page for more information.

Today I want to get into composition and focal areas. I want to show you how the abstract value plan ties into the composition of the painting and the ways Sargent uses this plan to lead the eye to the focal areas and around the painting. 

The main focal area is at the top of the painting (A). The staircase and triangular shadow lead directly to it. It has high contrast of value, a hard edge, and lots of detail (small shapes) in the shadows, the stonework, and the leaves and branches, which keeps your eye coming back to that area. Compare that to a secondary focal area (B). While it has a lot of detail in the small shapes, it doesn't have high contrast of value or hard edges.

Being a strong vertical painting, Sargent has chosen to keep things more centered and linear. The focal areas don't move around the painting as much as you would find in most other compositions, but instead stay almost in line. Sargent can get away with that because the painting's dimensions are nearly double its height compared to its width. The linear path of focal areas also mirrors the shadow line where the cast shadow on the stairs and the shadowed wall on the right meet. And with the main focal area near the top of the painting, the linear treatment adds to the feeling of immense height to the staircase. 

Let's really break it down. I'll start with that big triangular shadow on the staircase.

Notice how this triangle points directly to the focal area at the top of the stairs. Such a direct line to the focal area is normally considered a no-no because it causes the viewer's eye to zoom right to that shape—we call this a fast line. But Sargent understands this and creates ways to slow the eye down. Those dark horizontal lines (C) in the steps near the bottom are like speed bumps that slow the eye movement. You pause there for a moment to see what's going on, staying there long enough but not too long because there isn't a lot of other things happening in that spot. The viewer's eye then drifts to the rectangle shadow shape on the left wall, but again, doesn't stay there long because there isn't a lot of information to hold their attention, either. So it continues up that big triangle. It pauses again in the middle where the foliage cast shadow connects with the shadow on the stairs (B). The edge becomes soft and broken into smaller shapes, which is different than the edge before and after it. This difference causes our brains to slow down again and take a closer look at it. If there's a lot going on, your eye will stay there for a while, looking at it. If there isn't much going on, it will slow down and pause, but then move on to find more interesting areas of the painting. Which it does, right near the top of the painting.

Suddenly there are multiple smaller shapes, including the 2 smaller triangles, all that foliage and branchwork, and the doorway to the left and the rectangular wall sections opposite to the right (C). All of this information creates detail in the focal area and allows the eye to stop and take it all in.

But there is more to creating a focal area than just having lots of detail. Sargent creates this focal area in several other ways. The strong contrast of value between the white of the stairs and the dark shadows of the foliage, the hard edgework, intense color, and as we discussed all that information and detail all tell you that Sargent wants you to look here more than any other area in the painting.

 

With the focal area being near the top of the painting, there is a problem of the eye continuing outside of the picture plane, especially with that strong triangle pointing there. But the lines of wood across the top, one light and one dark, keeps the eye in the painting from going out of the painting.

 

Lastly I want to mention how important that large angled shape that is cast onto the left wall is to the composition. This shape balances the visual weight of all that information at the top in the focal area. If you remove it, the painting quickly becomes unbalanced. You can see this by putting your hand over that shadow. Once you do that, your eye no longer wants to move down to that area. The other thing it does is to create two negative shaped triangles pointing to the secondary focal area of those dark lines on the stair to help define where your eye is supposed to look and create more interest in this area to contrast the interest at the top.

For the last post on Sargent's Staircase in Capri, I'll discuss how Sargent unifies this painting through shape and color.