Change is Good. So Is Inspiration.
There is a Monet painting at the Art Institute of Chicago that continues to stay with me. (see below). I just love it on so many levels. It's far from the illustration techniques I was learning at the Academy, but I just can't get my head around how to make Art (with a capital A) like that. Though I will continue to pursuit that endeavor.
Branch of the Seine near Giverny (Mist), from the series “Mornings on the Seine”, 1897, Claude Monet
Down in New Harmony at the First Brush of Spring last April, I had a great conversation with my good friend Mary Ann Davis, who challenged me with some questions and then stated that she thought my biggest weakness was I painted too thinly. I thought back on the Monet, and while I wouldn't call it extremely thick paint (like Alan Wolton or Nikolai Blokhin), it certainly is layered and luscious.
I have always been so focused on the drawing aspect of painting and getting the proportions and form accurate. I've always felt that drawing is one of my biggest weaknesses. And I contemplated the fact that Mary Ann said I needed to use more paint. During the Scott Christensen workshop, he told me I needed to work on my paint viscosity. Since then, that is one of the things that I've been trying to understand better, getting that buttery feeling to the paint. But though I was getting better at that buttery feeling, I still wasn't putting on tons of paint. I thought I was, but now I realize I wasn't. Mostly because far too often I see people slap on paint and color and the painting suffers in the composition, drawing and value plan. I don't want to be a painter that loses those aspects of my painting.
Then, recently, I was in the Hoosier Salon in Carmel, IN to pick up a painting of mine which hadn't sold. While there, I took a look at the artwork hanging up and was especially blown away by the C.W. Mundy piece that was on display. I've heard C.W. discuss paint manipulation before and have seen many other artists' versions of brushwork and such. But I finally understand what C.W. means when discussing paint manipulation and deconstruction. After seeing this painting, I get it. Doing it is another thing, but at least mentally I'm beginning to understand it.
Point Lobos, 36 x 36, C. W. Mundy
Point Lobos, 36 x 36, detail, C. W. Mundy
I've seen C.W.'s still life work before in person, and I love his stuff, but I never considered it my look or style. Like a Pollock or a Picasso, I can appreciate it and learn from it, but that's not how I want to paint. But for some reason, when I saw this painting, it awoke something in me. Maybe because of Monet. Maybe because of Mary Ann. Maybe just because I was ready to get opened up. I don't know. Probably all of those and more.
There is a life to the C.W. painting, just like the Monet, that goes far and above average work. It glows, it's luscious, it vibrates, it comes to life. I can't explain it in words. It flourishes. Few paintings do this to me, but this one did. And now I want to figure out how I get my work to do that.
I had focused so much on composition and color theory and such, that I was ignoring the paint application itself. I thought I was doing some good brushwork, but what I saw in that C.W. and the Monet goes far beyond brushwork and into paintwork. (I don't have a good word for it.) Trust me, like the Monet, the photos do not do it justice. This paintwork is one of the things I have begun to explore in my most recent plein air pieces, and I'm sure will show up in my studio work as well.
And before I go, a special "Thank you" goes out to C.W. who graciously allowed me to use the image of his painting. You're awesome, man!
All my best,
Mark
P.S. My intent is to publish a new post every Monday. So check back regularly to see what I've been up to, what's on my mind and what's going to be happening in the near future.

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