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Very often we artists are asked to paint a motif in such a way that it matches the decor of a room. This we gladly do, as we are professionals.

And sometimes we meet customers who do it the other way around -- they paint their wall to enhance their new painting. I was sent this photo (shown here with permission) by a customer who had chosen a muted blue for the wall, a colour they found in several of the shadows of my painting Ad Astra. To further enhance the painting, they had mounted a spotlight to light it. A lovely wide spotlight that shines on the whole painting.

In my experience, it is generally so that a painting with a golden frame and predominantly warmer colours (yellow, orange, red) looks best on a cooler wall (blue-violet, blue, blue-green, and muted green). While a more blue or green painting with a silver frame tends to shine on a warmer wall.

It is a question of both finding contrast, and finding what creates a harmony. This customer really nailed it.

Ever since I read about St Bridget of Sweden making a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the 1300s, I have wanted to experience and discover what such a long walk does to a person. This September, it became a reality. We walked the easier south-to-north route from the Portuguese border up to Compostela. 

I like driving a bit fast when it is safe to do that. It is a bit of a thrill. However, on this pilgrimage I found that there is much to be said in favor of slow traveling. There is a story about the explorer Livingstone which goes like this: He was determined to get from A to B, so much that suddenly his native guide sits down and refuses to go further. When Livingstone asked what was the matter, the guide responded: We have been going so fast that I must wait for my soul to catch up with my body.

There is wisdom in that, I discovered. When you move step by step through the hilly landscape, your soul stays with you, and a peace of mind settles on you.

Eventually we arrived in Santiago de Compostela, and I was lucky to find the cathedral dramatically lit by the brilliant sunshine. I immediately knew I would paint that scene.

As usual, I do careful planning of my paintings before I even put the canvas on the easel.

This is a rough plan for the darks and lights -- for the abstract shapes underlying the composition of the painting:

And as you can see in A below, I stuck to the plan, as I started with the underpainting of the shadows:

B shows the first layers of paint on top of the underpainting. It is hard to see when the image is this small, but every area of paint has multiple colors in it. The sky, for example, has blues, violets, greens and warmer yellows.

In this painting I used brushes, and mixed most of the paint on the palette. That was the only way for me to keep track of all the detail in the cathedral -- not that I painted every detail, I merely suggested the larger features.

Finally, I thought I had finished the painting. I let it sit overnight, and the next day I discovered that I had to make a few changes. The lady in the bottom right corner (green arrow below) demanded too much attention. I really wanted here there, as she represented how I felt after a long day's walk: too warm, old, bigger than normal, and needing support, but also with uplifted spirits. I had to put my emotions aside, and think of what was best for the painting, and sadly, she had to go.

Originally, I had planned to include a person sitting on the stairs (the spot by the pink arrow). It didn't look right either, so I fixed that. 

Now I had a big blueish empty space in the bottom right corner, and likewise in the upper left quadrant (yellow arrow). I had to change that somehow. First, I thought I might put some birds in the sky, as there are always doves circling cathedrals. But, no. Again, I felt that living birds would direct too much attention where I didn't want it. The most natural thing that would be there, but in reality almost invisible as it is so expected, would be a cloud. Yes, that solved that problem.

Then I checked my edges carefully, added a bit more contrast and colour to the right tower of the cathedral, and was done.

Emotionally, this painting is a summation of the whole pilgrimage. The towers of the cathedral stretch upward toward the heavens, flaming against the sky. The foreground represents the earthlier concerns, and the very good food and well-earned and well-deserved rests we had at restaurants and cafés. The man sitting at the table is speaking in his smartphone. In our smartphones we had maps and instructions for each part of the route. What is highly modern is existing in the midst of millennia old faith, medieval churches and Baroque cathedrals.

Have you ever done work you ought to be very happy with, and yet there is something about the art that you can’t identify – something which is causing an “itch” in your mind? (And you so want to be able to scratch it!)

Some of my paintings have “itched” for a while. I really needed to get to the bottom of why I reacted to them that way. We’re taught to analyze our own paintings, and I geared up my brain and set to it. Was it the compositions? Or maybe the colors? Should I crop, or expand the views? Were there enough of lead-ins? Had I placed the horizon too high or low? But no, there was nothing obvious that was wrong, and the “itch” remained. It, whatever “it” was, didn’t affect every painting, either.

Thinking and analyzing clearly wouldn’t give me any answers. Solving this mystery demanded an entirely different method.

Back to Basics

I decided to focus on the reason why I paint, namely my love of color. My project was to paint my way around the color wheel (plus black and white objects) by taking objects of one color family, bring them outdoors and paint still lifes in the brilliant sunshine.

Exploring color by doing simple studies is how I started my serious artistic journey, back when. Color is of course not only the hue, color is also chroma and value, so color studies automatically also become chroma studies, and value studies.

This was meant to be simple fun, so I didn’t allow myself the more cerebral aspects of painting. The brightly colored objects from my household were simply put down on colorful cloths on a table, instead of carefully chosen, arranged and composed in order to adhere to all the “rules” artists are taught to follow. I wanted to play, to have fun, to get the full sensory experience of painting outdoors. My aim was to get into that state called Flow, where one doesn’t think verbally and critically, but instead see what is there and react to it, while experiencing the singing of birds, the light caress of the wind, and the scent of lilacs in full bloom.

First Clue

As I happily painted away, a nagging sense of discomfort was starting to bother me. I realized that I was expecting to get negative comments from other artists about my simple studies of color. It dawned on me that the time I used to spend on artist’s forums showing my work and viewing other artist’s paintings had had a lasting effect on me. I left such forums because, while most people on them were very nice and helpful, there were always a few who saw it as their mission to criticize severely those artists who didn’t adhere to all the rules they had deemed to be what “real art” is about. I left these venues, but in hindsight I didn’t do it time. Some of these negative comments had stayed in my head, and had subconsciously affected how I judged my own paintings. 

As artists, we have to be aware of how humans function: we seek praise and gravitate towards doing what gets praised, and move away from what gets frowned upon. We humans are hard-wired that way. With awareness of this phenomenon, we can stay true to our own artistic voice. Or to put it another way: we can follow our different drummer. That was my conscious reason for leaving forums.

I had not changed how I painted, but I felt this discomfort while sticking to my artistic vision. But this discomfort was still not the “itch”, I had to keep searching.

Second Clue

As I looked at all my color studies, I was happy enough with them and felt the “itch” with only one of them, the White. This was something I could use to solve the mystery. There was nothing seriously wrong with either the hues or the chroma, and the composition didn’t matter in this project. The one thing left to consider was values.

Valuable values

While the values of each painting were correct, the “itch” happened with the painting White. It is clearly a high-key painting, and that’s fine. Then an idea flew through my head – what if I check the value ranges of some of these studies? How many values on a value scale do they span? 

Most of the paintings have a balanced span, with the major masses ranging over six values, with a few darker and lighter accents (not shown in the image). However, White has a shorter span, only about four values, which is quite natural for a high-key painting.

Now it was time to check the value range of one of the “itchy” landscape paintings, Saltsjöbaden, Towards Land. I found that its range of values of the major masses were also more narrow and tending towards the lighter side of the scale.

Aha!

The mystery was solved. It simply had to do with my own personal preferences. I happen to like paintings that span over a greater range of values. Other people prefer anything from low- or high-keyed pictures to solid mid-value ones. 

It took going back to basics to solve this mystery and to get to know more about myself. I learned that I need to be more alert to how I react to judgmental criticism. (A whole topic in itself.) And I can happily paint pictures which have a narrow value range without being bothered by the “itch”, as it is now thoroughly scratched.

You may have noticed that I have put up only a few paintings on my website for some time now. That is because I have was busy renovating our house, and devoted my time to studying. Some of the classes I've taken are not related to art, and some are. The classes have ended now, so I am really eager to paint a lot again.

Oil Painting Class

I've studied a way to paint with oils that isn't as laborious as my usual manner. Basically that means that I blend the colors on the palette, but don't use any black. So I have painted, but most of my early efforts are not up to my standards, so I will not show them. Under the Chestnut Tree is painted in this new manner, which I'm going to use for larger work. For smaller paintings I'm going to continue to paint with pastels, or, if I use oils it will be in the manner of Monet.

Photo and Camera Classes

I got this nifty little camera, a Sony Alpha 7 II, which is a full frame mirrorless camera. I wanted to be able to use its full potential, so I tried my preferred method whenever learning something new -- I read about it... Finally, I came to my senses, and enrolled in several excellent classes which assigned us homework and provided critique of our pictures. It was difficult, challenging, and great fun. I now am able to use the camera when it is set to manual, and know a few tricks. And somehow I ended up with no less than 4 different lenses. Somebody has said that "you date your cameras, but you marry your lenses". We'll see, but I sure love the Zeiss.

Here are some landscape photos I shot for class:

Maybe not prize winners, but very much better than what I could do before taking classes.

Part of what we learned had to do with composing still lifes. As that was relatively easy for me, I could focus on how to frame the shot, depth of field, focus, etc.

Below, the top photo has directed light, controlled by me.

The other two were shot in the classroom, next to huge north facing windows. I -- of course -- worked with light/dark contrast (figs and sherry) and analogous color (tea and lace) which is in a range from off-white to rich tea russet.

Time for some drama:

The mask is backlit with a weak blue light illuminating the shadows in order to get the violets. I couldn't resist forming the bands of the mask into a suggestion of eyes. Note that while the mask is in the vertical center, one large 'eye' is lighter while the other is darker = asymmetry as a subtle effect.

The "Slainte" picture (Scottish, single malt, Whisky, true nectar) is focused on the glass. The light in the photo baffled the teacher, until I revealed that the objects were on a glass table and that I had put a flashlight shining up through it and through the glass in order to bring out the facets of the crystal and the amber of the liquid. This setup might become a painting, painted from life and not the photo. However, I was able to 'fiddle' with the camera so that it captured basically what and as my eye sees. I couldn't do that before class.

Then we had to get creative:

Top left is (obviously) a winter scen, taken from a terrace overlooking Stockholm. During summer, this is an outdoor restaurant. But when the photo was taken, it was in a sad shape. One lamp post has lost its head, and the other is leaning considerably. The photo was meant to depict a story, and I thought of "if you have too much of the creature (drink) taken, you will lose your head".

The phalaenopsis (orchid) is an example of a high key photo, that is, the shot is pushed towards the light end of the scale, in other words a bit overexposed, deliberately so.

The bottom two pictures are what is called "creative photography", and are shot with a longer exposure during which one zooms manually. One can also rotate the camera, or move it around to get fun effects.

When I paint landscapes, I usually sketch a bit, and then take reference photos and work on the actual painting in my studio. That is one important reason why I wanted to learn how to take better photographs.

*) The headline of this blogpost is an allusion to Robert Heinlein's Have Spacesuit -- will Travel. I hope to have delicious adventures with my camera, and the cool lenses.

"Per aspera ad astra" is Latin for "through hardships to the stars". Another phrase is "sic itur ad astra" meaning "thus you shall go to the stars". In other words, the title of this painting is "To the Stars".

Stars can be large or small wonders, they can be out of reach or just  a bow away. While painting, I thought of the sense of wonder we all used to have as children, when the world was still to be discovered. Some say this enchantment goes away, but I don't agree with that. I believe we're often so busy that we don't give ourselves the time to really take in the everyday miracles around us.

Artists, poets, authors, film makers, musicians, etc,  often live in that wonder, and show it to us, reminding us it is there -- all around us. The poem we love, the book we return to as a loved friend, the painting that shows the amazing in the ordinary, that haunting melody, they are what enrich our lives.

Give yourself a precious gift -- stop now and then to really see, truly hear, inhale deeply,  and let the joy and amazement fill you.

This is the most charming hotel I've ever stayed at. It is an old mill which was there in Monet's days, and today it houses tourists who want somewhere to stay during their visit to the village Giverny and Monet's house and garden with that famous pond and Japanese bridge. I've painted Monet's pond and the bridge covered in blossoming Wisteria before, but I knew that one day I would paint the hotel too. I rarely paint on velour paper, but this time I chose it as it gives an old fashioned feel that goes well with the motif. Maybe I'll paint another one, with a wide view, it sort of "itches" in the back of my brain, asking to be painted.

I certainly recommend the hotel for you who like it both cleanly comfortable and romantically rustic. It is run by a charming couple (she speaks English), and has an extended garden with some exotic animals. A small stream is running through and under the house, for the mill wheel. Breakfast in the garden was delicious.

Click the link to see a larger image of Moulin des Chennevières, Giverny.

"This is one of the eternal debates among artists.
Is it better to shape form with value by gradually (or abruptly, when needed) lightening or darkening an area to indicate three-dimensionality?
Or is it better to use the fact that some colours appear to come towards you and others to recede from you?

"But what if the question in the headline is a false dichotomy, this Tonal vs. Colour? "

These are questions I pose in an article which you can read in pdf form by clicking What is most important in a portrait, colour or tonal value?

In it you'll learn about The Colour Stool, a vital piece of artist "furniture" which shows a way to easily understand the three properties of colour.

You will see the difference and similarities of painting portraits of children in a tonal way, and then applying colour on top of the paintings. Click on the names to see the finished paintings of Noah and Lukas.

You get to see closeup details, comparing the methods.

And you will learn why I think one of the methods ages children.

You'll learn the importance of creating form using warmer and cooler colours.

And it is all free!  The intention is to start a discussion, but it wasn't convenient to put a longer text in the blog format, so I made a pdf of it.

Click on What is most important in a portrait, colour or tonal value? to read the free pdf.

And then let's discuss it here in the blog.

Recently, I happened to fall and break the wrist of my right hand, the hand I use. These kinds of injuries heal rather slowly, so I really got bored with just sitting and waiting. At the same time, there was (is) an ongoing challenge in the forum of the Pastel Guild of Europe -- how to paint green landscapes. Several of us live in Northern Europe (north of the Alps), and our landscapes are as green as Ireland's. It is nice to be outdoors in summer, but for some reason green paintings do not work all that well. It seems like we see them as too green, even if they're very faithful copies of the green stuff outside.

So together we are working on a solution on How To Paint Green.

One solution is to make an underpainting in other colours, which then will peek through the greens on top of them. Another solution is to temper the greens with other colours on top of them. (The result will be different.)

I chose to paint what was an all-green scene using no green pigment whatsoever. There is an impression of green here and there, and that is an optical mix of blue and yellow. This is going back to the basics, using methods the impressionists and the pointillists experimented with.

And, I painted it with my left hand, which lead to a loser handling of strokes. There was no way I could fuss and give in to my perfectionist tendencies. I learned (again) that a loose handling is quite enough and convincing. The right hand has too much dexterity and control. I really recommend painting a whole painting using only the 'wrong' hand, it opens up one's mind. Yes, it does feel awkward. Yes, there is a huge temptation to switch hands. If you persist, you will discover new things, learn new things -- get out of the groove. A landscape is rather perfect for the experiment, as nobody cares if a tree isn't portrait like.

If I may say so myself, I really like the result. It is amazing how more convincing the image is when there is no green in it. One can probably put in a bit green at the edges between light and shadow, in order to enhance the illusion of green, and I'll try that next time.

Compare with this which I painted outdoors, on location:

I really tried to match the greens (on top of an underpainting where there was no green). The sunlight was rather orange, as it was painted after dinner, and finished at about 8:30 pm (20:30). There were all kinds of greens, from yellow-green over blue-green, to violet-green. It is a faithful rendering of what my eyes really saw, and in that respect it was a success.

Green is one of my favourite colours, but even I feel that this sketch gives an impression of being slightly too green as it hangs on my wall. The painting of Birches somehow looks more 'natural', although it in reality is more 'contrived', more 'forced' by the avoidance of green pigment.

In a way, one can claim that painting is the ability to tell the truth via a 'lie'. If no greens, or very little of them, tells the story of a place in nature in a better way than green pigments do, then the artist will do well by 'fibbing' a bit, using the knowledge and skill they have.

And when it comes to preferences, we can be absolutely convinced of the fact that some people will prefer the no-green painting, and others will love the all-green painting. We are all different, like different things, and that is so very right.

After a very busy time with classes, exhibition, and commissions, I could try out my investment in a small set of the fabled Henri Roche pastel, made by La Maison du Pastel in Paris, France. Handmade with methods that are centuries old, these are the most luxurious pastels that exist. It is the pastel brand used by Degas, Monet, Rosabla Carriera, and other famous old masters.

After carefully selecting 36 pastels in mainly 3 values (3, 5, 7), plus a couple of darks and some near whites, I eagerly waited for the postman to bring it. Hovering by the window, waiting for him, I rushed out and grabbed it from his hands before he could drop it in the box.

When opening the parcel, I found several neat cardboard boxes with the cool logo of Henri Roché...

... and inside them were glorious colours!

The "candy boxes" sat for a while, being just pretty, while I was working with business related things. Finally I found some free time to paint "Old Town Glow (Stockholm)". In order to have a greater variation of strokes, I  broke off (gasp!) about a third from the long sticks. (Below: some sticks photograph as if the colours were similar. In reality, they are different, except the lemon yellow which is a duplicate.)

  During my earlier experiments with a sample set, I had made a discovery: the Henri Roché pastels respond very well to a high quality fixative, which allows for multiple layering on what I call plain pastel paper. This pastel, the Henri Roché, is what allowd Degas to create his fantastic shimmering paintings. (See my article for The Pastel Scribbler on discovering Dega's "secret" method, as I reviewed the Roché pastel.)

Here is a closeup showing the rough texture of a Degas painting (left), and a detail from my own (right), with a similar texture:

This typical texture can only be had when fixating between layers. I'm talking about a light fixation, not a drenching of the pastel. If a firmer layer is needed, do spray fixative in a light application, let it dry completely, repeat as many times as needed. I find that about two light applications is usually sufficient.

What this technique does is that it allows you to layer just about any colour on top of any other, without mixing them. Degas has let an olivy green and a rosy pink layer into each other, and while the optical mixing does show a certain greyness, both colours are vibrant as they mingle in the eye. Blending these would have resulted in a much duller grey.

Can you do that with other brands of pastels? Not as well, in my opinion. In other brands, the pastel dust tends to melt and darken much more, and fuse. The Roché pastel marks may darken a hair depending on if there is a darker colour underneath, but the marks keep their individuality and vibrancy.

I still explore the Henri Roché pastels, as they behave differently from other pastels. I will try them on other papers, too, as for example Ingres. In this painting, I applied light scumbling strokes, while the strokes in the sketches in the article were more impressionistic.

Larger version of Old Town Glow (Stockholm) is found here.

You fall in love with a beautiful painting at an exhibition, or in the artist’s studio – you simply must have it! You take it home, you consider carefully where to hang it, and hammer the nail into the wall. When you spend time in that room, you look at the painting with pleasure, feeling the joy of being in love with this gorgeous find.

After some time has passed, the joy and thrill tapers out. You can sit in the room without even glancing at the painting that used to be so enchanting. Eventually, you don’t even notice the painting anymore, as it becomes part of the furniture.

You have fallen out of love.

Or, have you, really? What if there is something else going on?

The brain is a funny old thing. While it is constantly active, it edits out what is always there. It is like it says: “Yes, all the furniture in the room is still there, and I don’t even have to register how they look, I have this nice simplified memory image stored, I’ll just save energy by using that instead of looking.”  You literally do not see the painting anymore.

The brain immediately notices changes, though. “Who put the garden tools on the dining table, dragging in all that dirt!?”

What if you outsmarted your brain (!) and deliberately caused that change which will make it sit up and take notice? What if you changed paintings, or changed which wall or room they hang out in? Yes, you are right – you would suddenly start to see the artworks again, rediscover how beautiful they are, and feel the joy anew! This effect lasts up to three months, and you can rekindle it by rotating your paintings, or have some stored away and change the display regularly.

And be gloriously in love again.

During the past month, I've been teaching a class on painting light and colour in pastels. Obviously, that has given me less time to paint, and to keep up with this blog. Why would one teach – for free – and not create one's own art?

For me personally, there are three main reasons:

First, it is a Challenge, and I thrive on challenges. It wakes me up from complacent couch-potato lethargy.  It is also great fun, plain and simple. I enjoy interacting with the students, and it is a nice feeling to be “the guru” for a short while.

Some of the challenges are:

To plan lessons , do research, and find a good enough structure to work within. I'll only mention this, as there could be pages written on that subject alone.

To really remember how it was to be a rookie, in order to not throw jargon around and take understanding for granted.

To find good visual examples that illustrate the points. Luckily, I've had the habit for a long time to take photos of the development of each painting I make. I did it for me, so I could chart failures and progress, but those photos sure came in handy when teaching, as they are all mine, and no copyright issues involved.

To find the right balance between praise and encouragement on one hand, and to give helpful hints respectfully on the other hand. Many of us (definitely including myself) do not thrive on critique alone. It is very important to stay out of criticism altogether, as that is a form of putting down people. Relevant critique, and lots of praise and encouragement will make students to want to learn and grow. I think the ratio needed might be 1 critique per 10 hoorays, just to give a feeling of neutrality, and more than 10 praises to be perceived as positive.

To teach accomplished artists and beginners in the same class. Basics have to be covered, but there also need to be some real challenges for those who have painted for 30 years. One way to solve it is to mark some tasks as “advanced”, or “very advanced”. Rookies are told to skip those.

The second reason has to do with developing people, and developing people-skills:

To learn how to respect people's needs: They will try things out, and not listen to my  golden words of immense wisdom. They will try things I tried when I was new at it – those things I know, all too well,  won't work. I  may tell them it won't work, and they'll say ‘yes' and go ahead and do it anyway. And I remember that only by doing will they really know. After all, they are just like I was, and to be honest, am.

To learn from my students: As they try things out, they will successfully pull off something I thought would never work. So I say to myself: “Be humble, admit you were wrong, and ask them how they did it. Your credibility as an honest person who is to be trusted will be firmly established by your willingness to learn.”

I know it is important to model how to learn.

And the third reason is to give on a gift:

As I was given the gift by my teacher to really see the glory and beauty in light and colour, I want to give that onwards. In one way, I do it in and with every painting that finds a new home. But when a struggling student suddenly sees, and the pure delight of discovery and understanding is lit in their souls, shining out through their eyes – that is when I get my biggest reward. I know that for the rest of their lives, they'll see beauty everywhere around us, even in the most mundane settings. To be instrumental in sparkling true joy is a great gift given to a teacher. Hoarding the ‘secret' would've left me poor indeed, but now I'm vastly enriched, and I could only get this richness by giving the gift of seeing colour and light onward, sharing it with others. Shared joy is multiplied joy!