Watercolor Painting: A Comprehensive Approach to Mastering the Medium (9 page)
Read Watercolor Painting: A Comprehensive Approach to Mastering the Medium Online
Authors: Tom Hoffmann
Looking more closely at this section of Alvaro Castagnet’s street scene, it becomes clear that he has taken what could have been a very complex passage and made it into a single shape. Several buildings, cars, and figures are suggested with a varied wash and a few reserved lights. The artist knew this was just enough information to prompt us to supply the details.
REATING A
T
HREE
-L
AYER
T
HUMBNAIL
S
KETCH
When does the
painting become specific?
By now it must be obvious that when I am trying to learn which elements of an image are essential and which are optional, I am especially suspicious of the specific bits. Developing the skills that allow me to look right through detail to see the
general
visual information greatly expands the range of images that seem “paintable.”
The elaborate carvings on the façade of the cathedral at right, for example, make it seem a daunting subject. So much information makes it difficult to imagine where to begin. Proceeding from
light to dark and from
general to specific should help me find a simple way to interpret a complex subject.
Evaluate the subject.
When I squint hard at the
photograph of the cathedral, the complex carvings lose specificity, becoming simpler, more general shapes. I can begin to see them as a
layer of middle-value forms laid on top of a lighter layer.
With a progression of layers in mind, I can “look through” the distracting detail to see the underlying structure of the lights. In the image at right, the first layer is a collection of pale, warm, neutral strokes. The whites that are reserved between those strokes make a similar abstract pattern. I was able to identify where the strokes would occur, how many there would be, and what kinds of marks would be appropriate by asking very general questions about proportion, distribution, and pattern. Before
painting this stage, I asked myself:
What percentage of the page is white? What is the fundamental orientation of the whites? Horizontal? Vertical? Diagonal? Do the whites occur in predictable locations?
The answers to these questions provided basic guidelines that were not overly specific. I knew, roughly speaking, that the whites would make up a little less than half the page, that they would mainly be horizontal and vertical lines, and that they would correspond to the upward- and right-facing edges of shapes. As long as these general requirements were met, I could stay abstract and progress gradually from general to specific information.
By themselves, the pale, first-layer washes do very little to create an effective illusion of light or space or substance. They are very general, like the rough outline of a piece of writing—mostly nouns, a couple of verbs, and no adjectives. Because these shapes will be partly covered by increasingly descriptive layers, they can often be applied quickly and casually.
Identify the lights and add the first layer.
At this stage of the study, it is not necessary to be concerned with content. To keep from getting specific prematurely, trust that the middle values and dark layers will provide all the meaning.
Add the middle values.
More care is needed at this point to
locate
the strokes, but it is still not necessary to
describe
specific forms. We need to know where the middle values go, but we don’t need to know precisely what they are.
The second layer, as seen at left, is also a pattern of strokes guided by the same sort of general question I asked previously. These cool neutrals cover about 20 percent of the page, and occur below the whites and along the left side of the light strokes. Can you see the pattern that determines where the warm strokes were touched into the larger cools? On a sunny day, the downward-facing surfaces of light-colored objects catch reflected sunlight and appear noticeably warmer than the surfaces that face up or out.
By the time I had completed the image at right, much of the complexity of the scene that had made it initially intimidating had been distilled down to three loosely applied layers. Yet, there is a sense of light and space, which is essential. At this point in the process I could have called the painting finished, or I could have kept adding ever more specific information. The door was open.
Apply the darks.
The relatively few darks should be more carefully located than the first two layers. They describe openings and deep recesses, which need to be in specific places.
TOM HOFFMANN,
CATEDRAL METROPOLITANA DE OAXACA,
2011
WATERCOLOR ON ARCHES HOT PRESS PAPER
11 × 7½ INCHES (28 × 19 CM)
TORGEIR SCHJØLBERG,
FJØSVEGG,
2005
WATERCOLOR ON PAPER
15¾ × 21¾ INCHES (40 × 55 CM)
Simplicity of treatment in this Norwegian landscape is essential to the overall feeling of stillness. Looking at one major shape at a time, it becomes clear that there are no more than three layers in any area. The roof, for example, started out as a very pale rectangle (light). The shadow above the bottom edge was a second layer (middle), and the edge itself was the third (dark). Count the layers that make up the small house in the background: roof, siding, windows.
layers will it take to tell the story?
Theoretically, there is no limit to the number of layers of watercolor paint you can put one on top of another and still observe a cumulative effect. Since each thin layer is transparent, the preceding layers will be at least partly visible, even if the paper has long since been completely obscured. There comes a point, however, beyond which the paint begins to lose its natural luminosity. When the light can no longer pass through all the paint and reflect back from the white paper to the viewer’s eye, the surface looks dull and lifeless. This alone would be a good enough reason not to pile on too many layers, but there is an even more compelling case for efficiency.
is
the subject. What we see when we look at a painting is the way the painter has interpreted the scene. Much of the pleasure of our experience as viewers, whether or not we are conscious of it, is seeing into the artist’s mind. When we are shown only the essential aspects of the subject
with nothing extra, we see the world fully translated into a few washes and strokes. There is a sense of collaboration between artist and viewer, as if we are being counted on to fill in the blanks.
How does the artist know when such a simple treatment would work? The skills involved in recognizing what is essential and what is optional are
awareness
skills. While John Yardley’s
My New Shoes
, opposite, certainly displays a deft hand, it is not the brushwork that is most impressive. He knew which were the truly telling aspects of his subject, and he gave us credit for being able to keep up with him. As viewers, we feel respected.
With a fundamental economy of means in mind, I begin my translation of a subject by trying to understand it as a series of
layers. I imagine a succession of transparent films that will add up to the appropriate degree of complexity for the subject. To get in the habit of seeing this way, it is useful to impose a limit on the number of layers you are trying to identify. Roughly speaking, I envision a first layer of the lights, a second of the middle values, and a third of the darks. Although it is sometimes necessary to be subtler, I find that most subjects can be brought to life with just these three. Looking at the detail of
My New Shoes,
below, notice how the sandals are painted with three simple layers on white paper: blue shadow (light), pink stripes (middle), and brown stripes (dark).
