Paintings from the Sandgren Workshop

[Ed. note: this is a re-posting from the southeastmain blog]

By june

I’m finally ready to post the paintings from the Sandgren Workshop, not because they are fascinating and wonderful, but because, well, because it’s time.

I did six paintings in three days, and then I reworked them in the studio. Five of the paintings were single framed views; the sixth was a stab at making ambiguous space. One of the paintings was so bad it’s now face-down in the studio.

Day 1, at Seal Rock State Park, south of  Newport, Oregon, on the coast:

JOU, Seal Rock Park 1, 16 x 12″, oil on masonite, 2011

JOU, Seal Rock Park 2, 12 x 16″, oil on masonite, 2011

For years, I have pondered the difficulty of painting treescapes immersed within brushy, unfocused areas. Perhaps ambiguous, unoriented, fragmented space might do it, but here, it’s “just” a matter of painting the light through the fog. Now I should have known about light through trees long ago, but insights seem to come slowly to me. This was an incidental insight from Eric Sandgren, the workshop instructor. He spoke a lot about layering of planes, but demoed the light, and that  stuck with me.

Day 2, Cummins Creek at Neptune State Park on Cape Perpetua, south of Yachats

JOU, From Cummins Creek Park, 16 x 12″, oil on masonite, 2011

JOU, Cummins Creek Tree, 16 x 12″, oil on masonite, 2011

Day 2 was sunny and bright, unlike day one, when the advantage of painting trees under the trees was that one didn’t get dripped on. The general palettes of the two days were quite different, of course, and Eric got to home in on color intensity as well as value. He nattered on about warm and cool colors, a concept which I theoretically have understood for years, but never worked in nuance before. So I practiced seeing warms and cools where they weren’t obvious, and did as suggested with the intense ultramarine in the ocean on the first painting of the day.

After I got home, I reworked these paintings, and in doing so I lost their freshness. I am disappointed in how they turned out but not in what I learned as I fussed and fretted over getting a rhythm and sequence to the materials. So during and after day 2, I’m thinking “layering, intensity of hue, values, rhythm and sequencing, and planes.”  Well, I tried to think of those things, serially and all at once. Multitasking at its most difficult, particularly as I am supposed to be handling a paint brush at the same time….

Day 3, North Park, Yachats (which isn’t called that anywhere but in Eric’s handouts. But it’s so obvious that misnomer didn’t matter)

JOU, Yachats across the Bay, 24 x 12″, oil on masonite, 2011

I had gone to the Sandgren workshop hoping to deal with the vexed question of painting something more than the framed, monocular perspective, the traditional view of ocean and land. The Yachats painting was my attempt to incorporate larger issues into an ocean painting. It, like the two from the previous day, has a lot of flaws, including serious overworking in the studio. However, it contains all the elements of ambiguous space that I need to do it again, better.

The conditions on Day 3 are the stuff of plein air legend — I had on four layers, a hat and gloves, the wind howled and the rain spat, and it wasn’t until 2 PM that it warmed up enough for me to take off my gloves and undo the top button on my coat. Nevertheless I was pleased to have found one way to work toward capturing the oceanic space as well as the sense of the whole scene as one might view it from various places. Eric’s insistence upon planar composition made sense to me in a way that years of thinking about shapes as a compositional basic never has.

So, while the final products may have been lackluster, my sense of excitement in cementing some ideas that I have circled for years continues. –June

Space and Place, First Thoughts

 The Amargosa Panorama


from Fra Lippo Lippi,
by Robert Browning

…We’re made so that we love
First when we see them painted, things we have passed
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see;
And so they are better, painted — better to us,
Which is the same thing. Art was given for that;
God uses us to help each other so,
Lending our minds out…
This world’s no blot for us,
Nor blank; it means intensely and means good:
To find its meaning is my meat and drink.
1855


Having spent 6 weeks in February and March 2009 at the Goldwell Open Air Museum’s Red Barn (near Beatty Nevada) as a Workspace Resident, I returned in November to paint a full panorama of the space seen from the Barn doors. I had played at working the space in oils on small panels earlier, but this time I wanted to try large linen panels. I also did a small scale set of studies for the larger panels. The set above, called The Amargosa is 5 feet high and 28 feet long. The image above, photograph by David Lancaster, is the way the linen panels looked on November 30, exactly 30 days after I began cutting the rolls of linen to size.

Here are images of the individual panels:



The Amargosa, Panel 1 (east),  4 x 5′, 
Oil on linen, 2009

The Amargosa, Panel 2 (east),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009


The Amargosa, Panel 3 (east),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009

The Amargosa, Panel 4 (central),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009

The Amargosa, Panel 5 (west),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009

The Amargosa, Panel 6 (west),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009

The Amargosa, Panel 7 (west),  4 x 5′,  Oil on linen, 2009

The   Amargosa, 28′ x 5′, Oil on linen, 2009

“Dancing, which is always accompanied by music or a beat of some kind, dramatically abrogates historical time and oriented space. Music and dance free people from the demands of purposeful goal-directed life….” Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place.

“The desert has no middle ground. It lacks the natural features or built structures that allow us to focus on that part of the landscape where normally our vision, hence our imagination, spends most of its time. It’s [an] example of our dissonance with the Great Basin…. the emptier the space, the less history we perceive. Without evidence of events, save those of geological occurrences mostly eons ago, we are…temporally unanchored.” William L. Fox, The Void, the Grid,& the Sign

For a couple of years now, I have been pondering, maundering, circling and scribing about space and place. These words came to the forefront of my brain with with my forays into desert “space,” attempting to render it in landscape paintings. More recently I was painting at the coast during wild winter storms and present at a trifling yet startling effect from the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, an effect that set off more contemplations of the wild unknowable, implacable nature of Nature.

This post is the first of what I hope will be an ongoing series that will examine, from my point of view and, through comments, from yours, the dilemmas and questions the artist faces.

Peter Schjeldahl says “We now know, from brain science, that seeing is not a direct register of what meets our eyes but a fast mental construction that squares sensation with memory and desire: what we believe and wish reality to be.”

Looking at the two photos above, it’s clear we can name them “Desert” and “Ocean.” Some in the know might be able to further clarify: “Mojave desert” or even “North American Range and Basin.” And perhaps an oceanographer, or knowledgeable traveler might be able to say “West coast” or “Pacific Ocean.” [This last I’m not so sure of, not being an ocean aficionado; nor do I know if geographers could identify the Mojave from the information in the first photos, although it seems to me to have more information than the one of waves].

But — and this is a big but — these spaces — desert and ocean — are enormous. They cover miles of territory, disorienting territory. They can easily be without landmarks, particularly if you aren’t a “local.” We have memory and desire about the ocean and the desert, but they tend to be about a particular ocean — Atlantic City, Cannon Beach — or a particular desert scene — the sand dunes of the Sahara or the Sonoran Joshua Trees. We name these things and tame them. We see photos of them and we identify them as gorgeous or sublime:

But with that naming and familiarity comes the artist’s dilemma: how to indicate “space” without it turning into an ordinary, banal “place.”

Yi-Fu Tuan, in Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience says:

…it is doubtful whether human beings can naively apprehend the [sense of calm of the sea at rest, the exuberant energy of the primeval forest or the vastness of the endless sweep of the plains] without prior experience in the sensible forms and scale created by man. Nature is too diffuse, its stimuli too powerful and conflicting, to be directly accessible to the human mind and sensibility.

Thus the task of the landscape artist is two-fold:  to see something — something different, something more, something less — than that fast mental construction of convention, hope,and desire. When seeing at her best,  the artist may perhaps come closer to directly accessing nature — or at least the visual space — with something like “naive apprehension.”

And then, the second task, equally difficult,  is to render that seeing, render it for the viewer in a vision that  communicates the naive view, yet with some landmarks,  something to key off of, something making sense of the pigments of light and color:

JOU, Nye Beach,March 10, 2011, 12 x 16″  Oil on board

“Space” says Yi-Fu Tuan “is transformed into place as it acquires definition and meaning.”   But for the artist, there’s a particular spot of visioning that, as I am understanding it, is neither Space nor Place, is neither incomprehensible nor tamed by naming and use, by memory and desire. The visioning I hope for is both startling and true to my own naiveté.

At the same time I am contemplating Space and Place, I am also thinking about Jackson Pollock and Thomas Hart Benton and the use of of time and movement in delimiting Space. But that’s to be left for another post.

June