Summer passing quickly. So far, unable to paint Dmitra from photo, colors too flat, no life in the expression. Time out.
Painted an abstraction of the Chosoviotissa Monastery on Amorgos, high on the cliff face in moonlight.
Working on a landscape, the I5 overpass at 40th St. in Seattle. The composition is solid, but the colors are off, especially the greens. "Mix your greens," Harold Jensen said. How right he is! Greens are darker, duller, than I realized, immensely varied, with lighter high lights. They are rarely, if ever, in the plane of the painting.
Vincent Van G. said: "There's no blue that doesn't have some yellow or orange in it." I took heart and mixed a bit of light yellow in with the ultramarine blue and titanium white. I began with lighter shades in the direction of the sun, darker elsewhere, blending on the fly without much attention to brush strokes. The sky began to breathe, to allow your eye space to wander. I'll be damned! Thank you, Vincent.
The painting begins to tell me what to do, what it is. The process is similar to writing fiction that finds its ending in the writing. I wouldn't have guessed. Sean O'Faolain said that a story needs time to mature, like whiskey in a keg. Giacometti just kept starting over, redrawing or rebuilding, working very fast with the same model---his method of rewriting / maturing.
So, "I5, Seattle," my second landscape, done.
Now, Dmitra. Once more, Dmitra. I bought 6 x 8 stretched canvas for $6. The larger sizes were intimidating. If the portrait is too small or otherwise impossible, I'll paint it over and use the canvas for the next landscape, "Andrew Feeding the Crows."
I drew a version with pencil on the same size paper, searching for an approach and a better feel for the dimensions. It was horrible, as bad as my earlier try. On a whim I bought some Roma plasticene and thumbed out a crude head (my first, a bald stoic elder as it turned out). I held it in the palm of my hand for a time and then went to bed.
When I woke up, the curved weight of the head had traveled into my mind. I could feel it. It brought with it a need. I had to somehow touch or hold what I drew. Facing Dmitra, I needed to feel the back of her neck. With that, I began to stumble forward. It is a small compass; there are obstacles to go around; but I am confident of the direction.
~
p.s. Please overlook reflections of the photographer in the paintings. He'll do better next time.
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