Tad Spurgeon oil paintings
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A weekly look at process and work in progress.




september 28
      

      Week of the new moon, a little cooler but now more lovely soft sunny weather, not quite summer or fall. Got the social security card, this meant I could get a PA license, which meant I could get PA insurance, which meant I could get the car, see below. You would think insurance here would be ten times what it was in Vermont, but it was only five. All this took a while to do, and a while to recover from, so not that much could happen in the work. What happened was okay, not great. The paint is as good as it's ever been, but there's just been too much going on, the work needs a little more in the way of peace and quiet. I can function, and did a little caffeinated banging out at one point, but with this approach I typically end up feeling there's something missing. So, this is a little frustrating, the sense of a lot of promise, being close to fruition, but needing to be patient still. Perhaps this is a high class problem, but I want to keep chipping away at it. There are a tremendous number of paintings in progress at this point, this week I began to focus on finishing them. This was generally positive, once something is a few months old I can usually see how to develop it, and some of these are even older, meaning it's easier still. I don't think I'll ever be a production painter, but more emphasis on completion is overdue.



      

      So, this is what has taken up so much time the last few weeks, 2009 Forester, about 40,00 miles, a spring chicken for me. I like driving this, it's nicely made without being fancy and really on the road, will last in a way the 240 Volvos did, with a similar type of total visibility. Between the colour and wanting a manual transmission, actually picking out the car was simple, but getting a PA license again was not. Although I did get my old license number back, another strange reminder that, for better or worse, I'm home.



      

      Kept going this week with the hide glue addition to the putty as a medium, all the tempera binders have different personalities and in the past few years I didn't explore hide glue nearly as much as starch or gum arabic, mostly because it's strength put me off. Got some cherry gum from Kremer, this is mentioned by Groen as being used by Rembrandt, although, interestingly, in a red glaze. The colour isn't a concern, since I'll be using so little. Still, an unusual material, quite tough and rubbery but not hard or brittle. I have no sense of it being "the lost secret" at this point, but it will be interesting to run it through some tests, it looks like it may behave somewhat like gum arabic, maybe more like gum arabic than gum arabic. Am also thinking about doing another round of work with walnut oil. I was sent some cold-pressed French walnut oil this summer by Christian Ward Hidaka, and, besides tasting just amazing, this turned out to be different than any of the walnut oils I've worked with so far. It seemed to be less watery, have more bounce, and to dry faster. So, I want to get some of the Flora cold-pressed walnut oil, generally available online in the US, and see how it refines. This is a nutritional oil, pressed at 50C, I think the lower processing temperature, along with simple hand-refining, may have a lot to do with the ultimate behavior. I haven't been able to locate an artisanal cold-pressed walnut oil in America yet, but if you're in Europe, there seem to be plenty of them for culinary purposes. I think in America the problem is shelf life, I have a feeling unrefined walnut oil becomes rancid pretty quickly. But of course, for painting, oxygen uptake makes for more rapid drying.



      

      A copy of a painting that's really close to finished after the usual dozen layers or so, this one now has two. Did this on some coarser linen with RSG and lead white as the priming. Glossy and mobile approach to the medium, this was good for beginning but the photo has lots of glare, illustrating the perennial possibility of linen interfering with the presence of the paint. For me this also illustrates how everything has to be finished on its own terms. A pretty fair creative copy of the original, in some ways better for being cleaner, but somehow a little glib so far, nowhere near complete. About 10x12 inches, oil on linen.



      

      Another layer on the beginning from last week, it dried a little low chroma, with the value scale compressed. Still needs more, but not bad for this stage. About 10.5x14 inches, oil on gessoed paper mounted on canvas.



      

      A second layer on yet another version of this perennial therapy image from the Mugello, not done but a nice balance of several factors coming together. This is on that handmade Zecchi paper, RSG and thin white lead ground. This paper has a great texture but not the most strength, definitely needs to be mounted on something else to feel safe. This is sort of the opposite of Twinrocker: really strong but not the most interesting surface. About 8.5x13 inches .



september 21
      

      Waning moon, new moon Tuesday, will be glad to see the last of this moon, challenging from beginning to end. Cooler overall, some truly lovely days. A complicated week, I'm not exactly getting used to this but am getting less unnerved by it. Got a new car, a 2009 Forester, that part was easy, but getting a PA license is more complex, some false starts here accruing the right information, so the car is still with the dealer. You would think a passport would establish your identity, but the DMV wants your social security card too. Something about all this is pretty intimidating, probably because of the size and intensity of the bureaucracy compared to Vermont, the relentless dull desperation in those crowded rooms: have to keep in mind there are three times more people in Philadelphia than on all of Vermont. I had to go in town to apply for a new social security card. Well, this at least was easy because I had a passport. Went in town on the train, first time on the old Reading line, growing up I lived nearer the Pennsylvania line. So, a connection there, new but old, took the train home from school for years. The Reading line goes through north Philadelphia, some great material for paintings, blocks of old warehouses and small brick row houses, intense mixture of density and desolation. But places I definitely couldn't walk around in. Not sure if this could be developed, but all part of this world, the many worlds within this world so misleadingly called Philadelphia. The painting that was held up at the P.O. in California was finally delivered, 13 days in all for priority mail. On the other hand at least it gets there, had a book sent back from Argentina after four months, that buyer is having me resend it to a friend in Chile. The CA buyer wrote that he thinks his wife will want something brighter, but she's seen it for a few days now and I haven't heard back. Nothing I've sent out has ever come back, and of course, the longer they have it, the more likely it is to make its presence felt, but there's always a first time. Honestly, I would love this particular painting to return. So, a couple lessons here: first, start using FedEx, second, gently discourage people from buying paintings for other people, even their spouse, probe a little more via e-mail about who they are, what they know, etc., and, third, possibly have a small restocking fee if a painting does come back. Worked more on turning the apartment into a home, it is going to take a while but made some progress and yesterday surprised myself by buying a small primitive rug from Afghanistan, called a peace rug, part of a project to get another reliable source of income going there. The store was a giant warehouse, full of all kinds of stuff from Turkey to Afghanistan, everyone who worked there had some kind of interesting accent. A lot of what they had was old, distressed and refinished furniture, even some architectural salvage, it looked kind of like a giant tomb in some places, fascinating but also a little oppressive. The rugs were on the second floor, another giant room but with a lighter feeling. The style of rug I got doesn't have a geometric pattern, instead has all kinds of stylized objects on it, looks sort of like it was designed by Matisse or Milton Avery, but in that inscrutable earthy-bright colour palette.



      

      My friend Roland sent me a copy of Karin Groen's 2011 thesis about Rembrandt's medium, this was pretty interesting but offered no actual surprises. There's another level of this research going on now, which is more concise, deeper on the one hand but also venturing more in terms of present tense work with the materials. I have no issues with Groen but she cites a conclusion by another scholar that seemed pretty superficial to me, viz, that there is "no difference" between the behavior of lead white mixed with whole egg, and lead white mixed with egg yolk. It is unfortunate if a new generation of scholars begins to accept this level of technical awareness as "Old Master" just because it comes from one of their own, people like Leslie Carlyle or Joyce Townsend have always been aware of the multidimensional materials puzzle and this informs their work. Anyway, it appears more and more like Rembrandt's system was tempera grassa in reverse: oil with a little tempera ingredient added to arrest the paint. She discusses egg, hide glue, and cherry gum as water based ingredients. I've done a lot of work with gum arabic and starch, but less with hide glue, and could see a different way of approaching it. Started with one part hide glue and one part denser oil, this is the hand-refined linseed oil, thickened by exposure to air. The glue was cold and this took some mashing to get smooth, but it was a very stable emulsion and quite elastic, photo below. I then added thinner oil and chalk in various proportions. The medium is a little deceptive in that, like a soft resin medium, it has a progressive set. I think something like this could also be done with commercial pre-polymerized oils such as stand oil or burnt plate oil. It might not be quite as elastic, but that might not be an issue. I wonder if my friend Allison might like fiddling around with this, she's been doing some Nihonga watercolour work with glue as well as working with oil.



      

      



      

      First painting in a few days after doing lots of running around over transportation, a choppy day, felt like I was lost in my own studio. Made with the glue emulsion idea, second layer. Used dense oil to overcome the gluiness of the glue, but went too far, a little too much like enamel for me. Also too literal, but it will be fun to see how to develop it further. I think the next paint, below, may work better for this. Image from the beach at Avalon, early in the day before it became crowded, strong light and different colours, I like this Boudin meets Hopper idea but not sure yet if its a pocket or a vein. The fact that it's a "good" idea means nothing in terms of whether it wants to keep happening or not. About 8.5x14.5 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Second painting made with the glue emulsion, made it leaner, and without bone ash, which made it bouncier, more discrete. Image of a farm in Vermont I've done a couple different ways, did this using one of the older studies as a model. In life it's a little subfusc, made this on the new gessoed paper, wasn't sure how absorbent the ground was, how much the paint would layer, and couldn't quite bring it up again after starting more down. Still, this unified but not bright enough quality is better at this stage than something that blinks. The storm cloud pattern is always an issue with this one, more development needed there. This paint was very fun to work with, but became dense surprisingly quickly. So, even less glue in the emulsion is probably the answer, along with more experience working with it. Two details below showing how the paint layers, first one is close to life size. About 10.5x14 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      



      

      



september 14
      

      Waning moon, a surprisingly warm, then surprisingly cool week. When I got here it seemed like the challenging weather would be from the middle of June to the middle of September, and this has proven about right: the good nine months are about to begin. A lot continues to go on here besides painting. The buyer supplied me with an old address accidentally for the painting I shipped out, one building off, the post office could not decide whether to deliver it or not, after endless conniptions it now looks like it will be delivered on Monday. Helpless, the work in limbo thousands of miles away, could not get through to them by phone ever, just wait, not my favorite type of situation. Did more work developing Adwords, that bizarre form of international sales poker, the book has sold more in September so far than in either July or August but sales go up in the fall anyway, and the increase may well be cancelled out by the cost of the ads for now. My next project is to get set up for painting sales again with the website, e-commerce has matured a great deal in the last few years, and if I start with a RAW file I have a decent chance of getting a quality final image for the site. Got the apartment here a little more in order, I'd rather work so this is happening slowly, but it's nice to feel like there's going to be a home here in the end. Decided to give up on the old Volvo, it's about to need a lot of work and may have too much rust for inspection here anyway, so am in the process of looking for another car. For many years in Vermont I tried to slow things down, but this year has really sped them up again. On the one hand, I liked the sense of consideration and spaciousness that slower time provided, but on the other hand, have to admit it was lonely, and maybe in the end there wasn't enough challenge in it, more stuff needed to be in the air at once to learn the next level of balance. I'd love things to slow down more again for the sake of the work, but maybe that's the old way too, the idea may be to let the work adapt to the type of time I'm offered.



      

      Did some cleaning and organizing of the palette table this week, washed all the brushes, this is always grounding, therapeutic. I like keeping the brushes in oil but at a certain point, even using safflower, the oil they're in does begin to get thicker. In addition to soap, tried some washing soda (sodium carbonate) on the synthetic ones, and this seemed to speed the cleaning along. One thing I more or less ran out of was gessoed paper, so, since the move I've been working a lot on Arches Huile, on the idea that it's well-made and I always cover the regular texture anyway. But I've been missing working on glue gesso and made a batch this week, put a little fine sand in it and a little calcite, so it's slightly absorbent with a somewhat rough texture as well. Used some paper from Twinrocker, and some paper from Zecchi for this, these are handmade, the Twinrocker is stronger but the Zecchi has more personality. Another nice paper for this is Tiepolo, a little heavier than the heaviest Rives, which is also okay. Also did a test straight wood panel, the quarter inch Baltic birch, 24x15, wanted to see if it would warp, was surprised that it didn't. Still, half inch would be safer. We'll see how this goes, the idea is to create a surface that will hold an incredible amount of paint. I also like doing this to linen, but sometimes that approach seems a little too consciously old world. In the medium department, kept going with a putty with a little starch added, worked with a starch addition for several years a while ago so it's interesting to revisit this approach with a slightly different idea, basically less of something richer.



      

      Started here, third layer on this peony from June. The second layer had more resolution, but this one has more depth, so I'll look for more resolution again in the next layer. A long time ago I became suspicious of formulaic finishing, it began to seem too much like the headline that condenses a complex situation into a few words the readership wants to hear. I've probably taken this process thing too far but really enjoy what happens when an image goes beyond rendition, the condensation of form and the enhanced sense of time that the layers of paint build into it. This means being willing to lose the sense of completion provided by one approach in order to develop a larger frame of reference. I like rendition as a portal, not a destination. A portal to where? Exactly. About 13.75x15.75 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Third layer on this seascape from New Jersey, there were some fun moments in developing this, a place or key in colour I haven't been before, needs a little more chroma and refulgence, layer four might complete it. About 9x15 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Wanted to try one of the blue sky beach images as well. This is something I did from life in Ocracoke a few years back, so knew what to do here a little more. A lot to balance, a lot of colours in that sand. Wanted more from the sky but have to admit have never gotten so far with this type of sky before alla prima, so maybe I'll just use this as a study for a larger one. In life I like the simple happiness of this, and the slightly lumpy but saturated paint. Will probably let it sit a little more and then fiddle with the rhythm of the umbrella line in the middle. About 11x15.25 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



september 7
      

      I'm always glad to see September: it's incontrovertible proof that I've survived another August. Waxing moon, full moon in a couple days, this moon has been very demanding, a nudge, an itch: grow grow grow. A sultry week in which a lot of different things happened, and needed to be balanced. Did not get a lot of work done, but did get something new started in terms of landscape, something I've been thinking about for a long time, see below. Heat and humidity have finally cleared out this morning, possibly the end for the season. Continued to try to figure out Google Adwords for the book, this is interesting since they have decided what my book is about without having read it, and while they will allow all kinds of keywords in the system, they basically guide you to what works and what doesn't based on their sense of what's being advertized. Now, this is fine for most things, since their qualities are known, but if you have done or written something new, is inherently problematic, because it is a priori trying to make the new concept sit in the old frame of reference. Which it simply cannot do, since the new one is larger than the old one. But, never mind these petty nuances, I'll render unto Google what is Google's, keep trying to figure out ways to get more people to the book's page, the website numbers are up. Still need to re-do the website galleries, the length of the move has made these woefully out of date.

      

      So, if you grew up around Philadelphia, inevitably you went to the shore as a kid during the summer. This is the world of the New Jersey coastline, with it's endless broad beaches on a string of large, stable islands. When I grew up the shore was goofy, tacky, and fun, there were no casinos in Atlantic City, for example, just a bunch of old hotels on the boardwalk. But, returning this week for a few days, it was clear that the shore had grown up. I knew it would be different, but it was really different. This is a view of Avalon, which, along with Stone Harbor, populates a long, skinny island called Seven Mile Island below Atlantic City, before Cape May. So, yes, there's about seven miles of this now. I had really looked forward to taking photos of the houses I remembered, but almost all of them have been replaced. This shift is interesting. The neighborhood I grew up in in Philadelphia is basically unchanged, but here the change has been total. The new architecture is sort of like Le Corbusier meets Victorian gingerbread on both steroids and quaaludes, there were some houses I couldn't believe had been designed by an adult, let alone an architect. An interesting aspect of the shore used to be the dessert-like quality of most the yards. Most houses had pebbles instead of lawn, there were often arrangements of shells, or ornamental brickwork, there were almost no trees. But they've solved the water problem, it even tastes okay out of the tap now, and there's a brisk landscaping business going on, featuring all kinds of intensely flowering tropical plants. Being plants, they have their own redeeming virtues, even if subtlety is not among them. The area is still very family oriented, the old 5&10 at least is still resoundingly tacky, and you can still get old school East Coast Southern Italian food in a restaurant that plays nothing but Frank Sinatra tunes.



      


      Did find one house that reminded me of the old shore, there used to be a lot of these in pastel colours with empty pebble yards.



      


      The beach of course, remains the same, although they have wisely planted the dunes. The water was really clear, apparently due to the cold winter killing a lot of bacteria, saw a group of dolphins close in, really interesting rhythm as they arc out of the water, the occasional tail flip, everybody got close to the water's edge to watch them chase the bluefish. It was strangely emotional to be there, a beach I flew kites on as a kid.



      


      The human factor on the beach begins to get more intense as the day goes on. The assortment of stuff is fascinating, the bright colours contrasting with the general human inanition. Maybe all this stuff is peculiar to this place where whole families camp out for the day, many more umbrellas than before, even some tents, carts now for Dad to haul everything back and forth. There are still sand castles being made, enduring until the tide overwhelms them, still an endless mosaic of footprints in the sand.



      


      And most everybody still goes home as the sun goes down.



      


      This week was pretty cut up, but did get some work done before and after the shore. Kept going with the idea of a smaller proportion of a richer medium in the paint, with a little starch gel added as they seizing element, keeping the putty separate with the same medium added. This allows more dynamic range in terms of colour that is attenuated or left strong.



      


      First thing of the week, decided to do a second layer on the first version of this, based on what I learned from the second version, done last week. This still has significant issues but three things worked. The first is the chromatic complexity that comes from putting a cooler layer over a warmer layer. The second is using the second layer to transform the image, rather than to attempt to correct the first layer, something that has not been easy for me to get used to. The third is not trying to finish it, accepting the layer as part of a process, making the changes but leaving it open so there's more room for finishing to happen in it's own way. About 14x15.5 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      


      Had to try something of the beach yesterday, I did some work on Cape Cod years ago but this beach is more personal somehow. Late light image, tried this in a relatively low chroma palette that I think would have worked out better if I'd chosen the right blue. Still not sure what this blue is yet, but that's all part of working with something new. The lilacs I recently sold were made with some burnt plate oil in the putty, this stuff is often a double edged sword for me but I added just a drop or two to this medium to see if I could use it as a tack reducer, get a little more flow. The result was a kind of zugswang situation where the paint neither blended nor layered that well. This is actually rare, but, live by the medium experiment, die by the medium experiment. Still, the paint had tightened up a great deal later in the afternoon and I was able to do more. The idea here was to get at the feeling, find the major elements while, again, resisting the concept of finishing. At one time this would have bugged me, felt way incomplete, but now I have more respect for everything that needs to be balanced and harmonized, especially with something new, so it just seems like layer one, getting aquainted the situation. This dried overnight, more can happen now in layer two. About 9x15 inches, oil on Arches Huile.

      Great article here about the amazing natural transformation our bodies undergo in the water.



august 31
      

      New moon, definitely one that's asking for something new. Warm and sunny week, summer very slowly beginning to wind down here. Mostly took care of putting things away, not a home yet but everything is functional. Started working on an adwords campaign for the book, this is kind of like playing poker, will take a while to figure out but it won't be from lack of statistics. I'm hoping it might help the book become more widely known, but at the same time the book was not written as a mass market product, just as a record of what happened when I began to explore the materials from the perspective of technical art history. So, while I've loved developing the book and it has lots of friends now in many different countries, it's what I'm learning is called a complex sale. Meaning progress may necessarily be slow for some time to come.



      

      The studio is still a mess but I had to start working this week. Began with a simple putty approach but then went back to a little starch in the paint after a long hiatus. Used it with richer oil than usual, this worked out pretty well for the first time exploring a new idea, details below.

      There's a book about painting that was written along time ago by a doctor, a manuscript actually, it's handwritten on handmade paper, looks like something Hermione would consult secretly at 3 am. This book is getting more well known as interest in the materials develops. There's even a medium out now bearing this doctor's name. So, that must mean the medium is in the book. Well, no. Not only is this medium not in the book, neither are either of its major ingredients, to say nothing of the idea of combining its major ingredients. I'm pretty certain of this, having read the book from cover to cover for several years. The medium in question is basically a 19th century idea, soft resin combined with oil as a global addition to the paint, being marketed as a 17th century idea. Maroger tried the same thing, saying a mastic gel was in the book when it wasn't, and was called on it by A.E. Werner. Anyway, I'm sure everybody involved in this is well-meaning, and thinks of it as harmless, but this is where the nomenclature of painting ingredients becomes an unnecessary labyrinth. You buy reasonably priced "rose madder", but it has no rose madder in it. Well, you dummy! Real rose madder is expensive, not cheap. In fact, it exists, but it's called "genuine rose madder." Something called "lead white substitute" turns out to be, wait for it, titanium white. Burnt plate oil is marketed by both Grumbacher and Zecchi as sun oil. It goes on and on. Because there are no rules. And because manufacturers know that painters are not paying attention, that purchases are primarily made by impulse, that uniquely human combination of excitement and fear. So, by this logic, it's okay to imply any kind of lie as long as you don't label your lie "genuine". There have of course always been lies about painting materials; this was so endemic in England that one manual of the 19th century even listed the ways materials were most often sophisticated. Of course, this medium isn't sophisticated, but its marketing strategy is. Why can't we just tell the truth, and let that be enough? Perhaps because there is such a strong tendency to look for a new, of course simple, solution to what is in fact always a complex issue, in painting or in life.





      

       First peony of the series begun here, late light, holding to a slightly augmented earth colour palette, still like the concept. It's a little too warm overall now, a little weird, but more consolidated than it's ever been. About 12x13 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Later peony in the series that had lagged behind the others, I tend to work from worst to best, especially if I'm feeling iffy about what's going on. Actually a Vermont peony, photos taken in a big empty room in my old house, this came forward more with a simplified palette but made some larger changes and these will need to be restated. I like the personality of this peony but it's also a little elusive. About 13.5x15 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      From yesterday, another version of this image, smaller, thixotropic medium test using starch and thick oil, also wanted to see if stronger paint would work better, including stronger white, everything was conditioned at one part medium to three parts paint instead of the usual one to two. Used a simple chalk putty in this, conditioned the same way, but separately from the paint, allowing the option of more chromatic oomph. This worked, a good approach for alla prima or finishing. I like this version better than the first one, but also see ways that more could happen. More than anything, need to integrate the way the figure and drapery are painted, they're a little too different. Dry today, will probably do more to it, try to keep it loose but a little more developed. Another option would be to return to the original version first, using what I like better about this one as a guide. About 10x11.25 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Mounted and varnished this painting from 2011 for a potential client this week. After three years I still really like this, will be sad to see this go. But a sale always makes me want to replace what has been lost somehow. This was a three day extended alla prima marathon, slow drying medium using some commercial burnt plate oil. This is a material with an odd behavior, I always seem to fight it as much as not. But it doesn't yellow and does add saturation and mobility, and usually increases open time, even in small amounts. Returning to increased open time may be wise now, another day with the figure study above would have been helpful. We'll see, this moon is really restless so far, nothing is new enough for it. About 11x14 inches, oil on gessoed canvas on panel.



august 24
      

      Waning moon, new moon tomorrow, final week of the move, sort of emotional time, only living in one place again after five months. Pods arrived without a hitch, nothing damaged, had some nice kids help me unload them, it didn't take that long, realized I was a little possessed afterwards. Sense of accomplishment about having completed the move, but now the apartment is pretty full, will need lots of organization in the weeks ahead to make it functional. Still, it's a nicer space, will make more of a home than I've had since leaving here.



      

      Continued with the egg and larch balsam addition to the putty this week, started from scratch with a new formula using a little whole egg. These additions are small, in the five percent range, the concept comes from recent research into Lotto, with the egg-resin added to the putty medium. Got this to a place I liked doing layers on some small older work, this is often a good waning moon activity. Was a little hesitant about how "up" to paint them, they dried more quietly, something that does not happen, for example, using egg yolk alone. This type of thing can also be addressed by using proportionally less putty and more paint. I like the look of this surface better, though, articulate, poised between matte and gloss, so getting this formula the way I want it looks like it's worth pursuing.



      

      Image of Vermont from one of the recent trips, layer four on this one. Still not done but closer, had a nice sense of what to do in terms of shifting from sparkle to unity and back, was able to get a little more cohesion into the sky. This scale is still a little small, but just starting them bigger isn't the answer yet either. About 8.5x15 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Image of lifting fog in September in Vermont, getting closer to what I want, balance of softness and sparkle, more to go but not that many layers on it. About 10x14 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Small one with a composition I liked but which had gone awry. This is usually helpful, there's nothing to lose, it's just wrong. Good example of what this paint can do, I've never quite seen a surface like this. About 8x12 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



august 17
      

      Waning moon, spent most of the week in Vermont cleaning the house and loading the shipping containers. A sense of completion to finally getting this done. Moving is bizarre, but also sort of cleansing, asking "What's important?" at a more basic level than usual. As a kid I was always impatient with stuff, partly as a result of growing up in the Depression and partly by nature, my parents were moderately into stuff and I remember how much it bugged me. In a way it was their sense of class, in a way it was just manners, a Zen-like daily ritual they observed. This type of ritual is tricky, sometimes it can protect content, other times it can mask the fact that content doesn't really exist. And that's a long story. But I'm more the same way now, safeguarding stuff, but more because buying it again eats into working capitol than anything else. Anyway, being in Philadelphia sort of brings all this back up, the long rebellion against civilization that I've only recently begun to see in any perspective. But that's another story, or an ongoing one. The important thing is that the long chapter in Vermont, thirty-two years of rebellion, is now closed. In terms of change, this felt much larger than I thought it would, like I'm in fact here now, not in between two places. The containers arrive at the end of the week, and this small place is about to be very full of materials and paintings. Still, it's a nice space, it will be fun to turn it into a home. I left Vermont on a cool day, clearing after rain, low mobile clouds, a little of that autumnal robin's egg colour in the sky and an amazing sense of space in the air. More than summer, fall there meant a lot to me, but Vermont always remained a challenge, or an adventure, and did so for so long that I didn't realize that it never became a home. Home, on the other hand, is something Philadelphia is really good at, although, having grown up here, I had to leave to have any appreciation of that.



      

      Philadelphia was carved out of a forest, and that forest hasn't exactly surrendered. The trees are always growing, the sidewalks are always buckling. The city has a large park, Fairmount Park, running through it thanks to the foresight of William Penn. I grew up near an entrance to a relatively untamed part of this park, and have very happy memories of being there as a kid. Took a walk there this week to say hello again. Of course, it remembered me too, which was very nice.



      

      Got a chance to visit a famous house this week, the one known as Mother's House, by Robert Venturi (with probably more assistance from Denise Scott-Brown than is generally acknowledged, but let's skip lightly over the gender politics of architecture.) The front view is the iconic one, this is the rear one. The most amazing part of this house was the first floor interior, it is pretty small, but uses a wealth of spacial details to create an astonishing balance of nurture and a kind of playful largesse. This latter is sort of a Venturi-Scott Brown signature, it's strangely powerful to be in a building that has a light touch, even a light touch about its light touch. Anyway, I was kind of awed by the articulation of the space, its laconic artistry. It was a relief to learn that the building took five years to design, had gone through many permutations before arriving at informed simplicity.



      

      It was great to return to paint later this week, I really miss it after a while. Cleaned up, then thought about where I had been. But wasn't sure, and, since I was now somewhere else, just made something as a place to get started. Felt almost too strong, and it was kind of a disaster, see below, but did get things going again. In spite of keeping notes there are some "Oh yes, I remember, that doesn't really work" moments.



      

      There are paintings all over the place in the studio, most were made, but it seems like some of them just happened. I just have some pieces of 2x4 plywood mounted on keyboard stands for storage and these are not enough, so it will be good when I can set this up for real, probably over the coming weekend. There's a lot of work that I'd call over the hump, not bad or unresolved but not quite in the informed simplicity zone yet. There's a great quote by Blake, mild for once, about having to do too much before knowing what enough is. It will be interesting to see what happens this winter. I always wondered if there would be a day when I woke up and knew exactly what to do, the way, say, Modigliani knew exactly what to do, but it seems to be incremental: this year is better than last year, which was better than the year before. I guess if artistic resolution in realism is going to be alive, not just an empty ritual, there has to be evolution, a balance of certainty and uncertainty that occurs beyond a formula, in the moment. Or rather, in a succession of moments. I don't mind the process as, moment to moment, it is so interesting to tag along. Still there are occasional survival concerns as I see the process blithely meandering around as though I'll be alive forever. Although in larger terms that seems true, it would be a relief if, overall, the work continues to coalesce in the next decade. Maybe a greater sense of resolution is like a greater sense of home: more appreciated through loss and the subsequent work done to recapture it.



      

      Did two layers on this image from a small town in the Garfagnana before I left with a little larch balsam in the putty. An image I've done lots of versions of, not done but in a decent place. I looked at a nice book about painting by Birge Harrison this week called Landscape Painting, although it's also about the process of making paintings. He tells lots of anecdotes, and one of them was about a painter in Paris who didn't have much money and would never use much paint. He asked Harrison for a critique, and Harrison simply put out more paint on his palette, to his horror. Of course, he had no choice but to use it, and the painting sold quickly, eliminating his financial difficulties. And I agree, there's often something to be said for more paint as it tends to enhance unity and simpler forms. About 11x14 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

       Made this using the very old Strasbourg Method outlined in Eastlake, a little bit of hard resin varnish added to the paint. Hadn't done this in a long time, have learned that it's good to revisit things cyclically to see how they perform in the current context. In the official method, the paint is handmade, so the varnish seizes it tremendously. A little bone ash is then added to relax it. For this I just added a little sandarac varnish to the putty, sandarac is probably my favorite of the three and was the last one I made, I have some left that's pretty light. This was on a gessoed ground that I thought would be absorbent but wasn't, so it became goopier than intended. Trees in a park on the way to Mother's House, an iffy composition at best but I wanted to explore both more rococo paint and the concept of the local landscape. Dry overnight, but with the fiendish saturation of even a small amount of hard resin varnish, so an odd photo. Caught between various colour schemes and influence, charismatic but a total mess, it might be possible to save this later, simplify it without making it one of those modern flat and square landscapes, but for now I'll just move on. The liveliness of this approach combined with its depth might be good for finishing things that have become a little predictable, though, so the paint with a tiny amount of sandarac added to the putty will probably make a return engagement. About 10.5x12.5 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



august 10
      

       I'm in Vermont, packing up the last round. August can throw up arbitrary roadblocks, and there have been an amazing number of technical difficulties this week. I've been trying to iron out some stuff online and it's been so frustrating so long I'm going to cut this short before anything else goes wrong. I'll be back in Philadelphia next Sunday and try to put up something coherent then. Stay tuned, one more trip to go.



august 3
      

      New moon, a relatively mild week weather-wise leading back into some heat and humidity to come. Ten days over ninety Fahrenheit in July, not nearly as many are predicted in August, although in the past I've often found August to have its own special charm in terms of things going awry. One thing I keep noticing about Philadelphia is that the tree are a different colour green than in Vermont. Darker. Also, that this place was carved out of a forest, and that that forest has not given up, is still growing back. So, it's kind of interesting to feel like I'm in a city on the one hand, but that in many places – the tiny backyard here, for example – there's a strong sense of being held, protected, by the trees. As often with the new moon, a rocky start, nothing was new enough, but ended up with a new approach that I liked to the small landscape study. If you've been around dogs in the country, you know that they can seldom resist returning to that porcupine. In some ways, the small landscape study is the porcupine that I keep returning to, thinking this time I'll finally get it. At the same time, it does seem to be running out of quills, so maybe this can be termed progress.

      Finally got to the museum in town on Friday night. This is the museum I grew up with, so it's familiar, an old friend. Not all the galleries were available, but did see the 19th century French painting. A very different set of paintings that included an atmospheric twilight landscape by Chintreuil, a painter Delacroix liked whose work I'd never seen before. They also had some great Pissarros. He was really good at a certain colour scheme that involved stone colours with brighter colours emerging, there were several variations of this on a wall where each of his paintings was in a slightly different style, nice curating. A selection of Bonnards and Vuillards, nothing major by either painter, but really good smaller examples of their related yet unique personalities. An unfinished Klimt that was very interesting, the complex pattern well underway but still in progress. I'd always thought that Bonnard's tesserae idea came from older Flemish painting but maybe Klimt had something to do with it too. Also, a really nice Schiele, a Danae, great mysterious colour, and Schiele on his best behavior. They had the Sargent of the Luxembourg Gardens, kind of a guilty pleasure but really well painted, the background trees were just so well done, apparent blobs but full of life. Then a peculiar Sargent portrait, Frances Sherbourne Ridley Watts, very edgey, she looks like a butterfly pinned in a box, but it isn't overtly unkind. The shadow side of the face is really great in life, his dare to himself and it worked. There are some odd things happening in the paint, especially in the background, which feels more abandoned than completed, although this also gives the completed aspects of the painting more distinction. Everything was trumped in a way by the Van Gogh sunflower, this is the one with the turquoise background, copied by endless high school kids in art class, often used in close-up as the museum's logo. It's stark sincerity, maybe desperation, made everything else seem a little confected, a little arty. Van Gogh became a minister at one point, and in many of his paintings there's something of the rejection of the opulent for the humble, the dubious graces of society for the frank intensity of nature. In The Principles of Art Collingwood concludes that one of the most important purposes of actual art is prophetic: to remind or even warn a society about things which it would rather ignore. This can be social, as in Daumier or Millet, but easily shifts more towards the sacred or spiritual as the positive opposite of the materialism. As an approach, it is opposed to much popular painting of a given era, which is popular because it flatters the period's vanity about itself so well. Not flattering the public requires a thick hide, or an awareness of the silliness of the process, both of which probably motivated Manet. Delacroix stopped showing his work after some fierce criticism, Ensor became obsessed with depicting what he perceived as the insane superficiality of society: there are few paintings as bluntly scary as The Scandalized Masks. I guess this visit to the museum has me thinking about the painter's allegiances. What the painter owes society through the viewer, what the painter owes their own evolution, and how the painter chooses to ensure their own survival. There have been many different formulas worked out, ways of navigating through in one piece. There wasn't anything on display by Ingres or Bougueraeu, about as academic as it got was a nice small scene of peasant girls dancing around a fire in the evening by Jules Breton. Van Gogh's approach to balancing painting with survival, of course, did not work out well for him, and it sometimes seems like these paintings have been co-opted by a society that still has no idea what they are about. Or maybe knows, but plays the game anyway since abandoning it obviously didn't work out so well for Vincent. Or are these paintings quietly doing their subversive work, presenting total commitment, asking questions about the nature of reality that, whether consciously perceived or not, insinuate themselves into the viewer's awareness?


      

      I found out early on in the materials project was that I didn't remember as much as I thought I did. So, to avoid going around in circles, I started writing procedures down in a notebook. At first it was mostly medium recipes, then more about the procedure of given paintings. This is mostly what I do now: it's not a matter of making different materials anymore, but of different combinations, or different proportions. For a while I thought the craft part was coming to an end, but it's more like the experiments ending have allowed something different to begin. I'm not making the instruments anymore, just writing the score they're going to play. One of the things I ran into with adding a small amount of larch to the putty in the last few weeks was a melting of the medium's thixotropy. There are several ways this can be densified again: by more chalk, or by an oil that creates thixotropy again. The oil method is nicer, and there are several that will do it. A little bit of the original burnt plate oil works, but of course is a little hairy to make. Any very thick hand-refined oil works, the thicker the oil, the more seizure occurs. Another way is a very small addition of an oil saponified and made dense by sitting in a lead tray. I don't think this type of thixotropic seizure can be done using the thicker commercial oils, modern burnt plate oil, for example, has a strong leveling effect. Perhaps a little egg white in conjunction with a modern oil would give a similar look and feel to the putty.


      

      Leaded oil is of course not necessary, but it was a part of many aspects of older practice and I became intrigued years ago by the various historical recipes. My scientific friend Roland is also interested in exploring older materials in order to understand them better. I've been busy moving but Roland is on summer vacation from his university and sent me a great experiment working on variations of the formula for a leaded oil that is on page 300 of Eastlake, volume one. This is the one attributed to an "eminent painter, recently deceased," probably Wilkie, whose dates are right for the publication, and who held the position of Painter in Ordinary to the King. Anyway, Roland's experiment may confirm that this method of making a fast-drying, somewhat saponified oil might also have been used as a way to refine the oil.


      

      Did three layers on this study of Farr Cross from the most recent trip to Vermont. Did not want to return to these smaller studies, but am learning more from them about unity. Technically, this has been a little odd since it is drying down a bit and, in theory, shouldn't be. Feel like I understand where it should go next, denser paint, more of a balance between detail and atmosphere. This is often achieved with a rich and somewhat melting paint, that may be next. About 9x15 inches, oil on Arches Huile.


      

      Visited this favorite spot as well on the last trip. Did two layers on the painting, first one above, second one below. A more certain composition, the potential difficulties were simplifying the sky and the rock-filled low riverbed. First layer seemed a little red, the second seems a little blue green. Next will return to more of the colour scheme and oomph of the first one, and that may complete it. As is often the case, the first one looks more finished in the photo than it did in life. I'd love to get a lumpier version of this to feel complete but there was no question the following day that it wanted to go further. The second one has a finely scattered surface sheen that isn't hard to look at, but made it hard to photograph, took five before I got something reasonable. The usual influences, in life this feels like progress in terms of the balance of atmosphere, rendering, and presence of the paint. Will try to develop this approach further in the week to come before returning to Vermont for the final trip that will complete the move. It will be nice to actually live in one place again, and be able to focus that much more. When I returned here at the end of March, it was important to figure out what kind of work could happen in a very different environment. It's felt more hopeful to be here in terms of eventually finding an appropriate venue for the work. The process also feels in good shape for the better painting weather of autumn. About 9x15 inches, oil on Arches Huile.




july 27
      

      Last week of the moon, went to Vermont to finish cleaning and packing, had some unexpected help for which I am genuinely grateful. Found something in the studio from 2006 that looks really interesting, the first lnseed oil I refined, it has become unusually gelatinous, confirming yet again that aged hand-refined oil is different and may well have created paint rheologies that were misleading to subsequent researchers in their search for "the lost secret." On it goes, another piece of the puzzle, I get a kick out of stuff like this. New moon today, will drive back to Philadelphia with a car full of linseed oil.



july 20
      

      A sunny but less humid week, cooler mornings and evenings, easier to work. Waning moon, tried to get a lot done but began to feel tapped out later in the week, I'll go to Vermont for another round of moving in the week to come, last round before the finale. Since coming back to Philadelphia, have wanted to generate a body of work that is somehow more based on what I feel here, but at the same time the sense of what the images are capable of expands. I don't feel so much dissatisfied as that a given image simply isn't complete, that its journey isn't finished. There are painters historically who have defined finished succinctly, whose style is, for better or worse, a done deal. Then there are painters whose style evolves incrementally, or maybe in phases. Then there are painters who get involved in ongoing questions about style. I guess that, having grown up with a lot of style employed for its own sake in 20th century painting, I want to make sure that content doesn't get left at the station. Content is so important to completion, I'm always surprised at how effectively it has been marginalized as a foundation of the process. Perhaps because content, like the rabble at the palace gates, is so inconvenient. Of course, it is axiomatic that a given period will have its fads, take a lot of work seriously that art history doesn't. This is explored pretty effectively in print by R.G. Collingwood in The Principles of Art, written at the surprisingly early date of 1938. Collingwood is the first author I know to talk about the commodification of culture, differentiating between the classical definition of art – that it is based in a personal emotional authenticity that then serves the larger whole of society – and art that is a form of intellectual amusement, the cultural country club. He gets off some very good lines at the expense of this form of snobbery, but makes the larger point that actual art serves the important purpose of grounding a culture in truths it may be all too eager to avoid, that, without this call to order, a culture is only too apt to continue to believe its own propaganda. The largest point of all being that, after a certain point, a culture can cease to have a functional relationship with reality, and that this inevitably has consequences.



      

      Worked with two types of paint this week, one without resin and one with a little larch balsam. I keep these on different palettes just to make sure things stay straight. I'm not always thrilled with the look of the paint with resin in it but there are certain things it does quite well, just have to be patient and keep exploring how it can be engineered for more personality.



      

      One of the landscapes from Vermont with a little resin, ground this down lightly and put another layer on it in paint that was slightly richer, but also pretty thin for me. Liked how this worked out, something new, but want something a little denser to complete this. Am getting to understand how to do the treelet edges, this is very fun perhaps because it took me forever to figure it out technically. The general key with these is to make each layer slightly different than the preceding one, so they move back and forth between brighter and duller, or sun and fog, warmer and cooler. Don't want physical so much as atmospheric detail, have had some of these go into over a dozen layers so to be here at three feels like progress. The issue with this now is not so much the colour, a form of balance that the technique takes care of progressively, but how to integrate the sense of a softer atmosphere with the sense of a great deal of low key sparkle as the sun emerges. About 21x9.5 inches, oil on Arches Huile, I'll mount this on canvas soon to make it more stable.



      

      Have been working on a smaller version of this cheese for a long time, decided after putting yet another layer on it to start over. Not to abandon the first one, but to give it more breathing room by making a second one. Want to avoid too much specificity in this one, this is where I can go around in endless circles. Like where it is headed in mostly earth colours with a few brighter guest appearances, but no blue. About four layers of paint so far, 12x16 inches, oil on gessoed linen on panel.



      

      First peony in the recent series, did another quick layer on it, nothing too finicky, just an in-and-out round of overall touching up. Pretty close, in the zone where it's getting fun to work on, finding a little more each time. Still not sure about those red accents, more, less, darker, lighter, etc. otherwise it seems straightforward to complete now. About 12x14 inches, oil on gessoed paper mounted on canvas.



      

      Another layer on this one from last week, layer three. Consolidating, lost some oomph or liveliness but gained some substance. Maybe I lost the illusion that it was on its way clearly and gained the reality that there's something large still to be resolved. A little concerned that the dual shadows will simply be too prominent based on their geometry. Next round will be in looser paint again, tried this one with some blue in it, not sure blue is part of this approach. About 13.5x15 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Started this one this week, got two layers on it plus a little more on the flower itself. A reasonably wabi-sabi peony, but the most certain of these so far, the most poised, maybe also the one posing the most inscrutable question. As usual when something goes a little further somehow, will probably let this one sit a while, more to know what to leave alone than what to work on. I guess the thing I'm most interested in with these is using depiction to get beyond it, creating a seamless fabric of the personal and the universal. This is not exactly new but if I don't define the context, someone else eventually will. About 13.5x15 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Last beginning of the week, intrinsic energy of this particular moon on the wane. Somewhat more equivocal feeling, puzzled, entreaty, a peony that is a little tired of hearing about people being blown to bits, is wondering why this has to happen over and over and over again. Did three layers without really feeling that it was all that together, but didn't mind it, you can see more process as a result. Feel it's worth continuing, the ones with struggle have their own type of inner life, and it's nowhere near as confused as the first peony in the series was at this stage. About 13.5x15.5 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



july 13
      

      Week of the full moon, pretty warm and humid week, but, like the cold in Vermont, I'm getting used to it. Lots of thunderstorms predicted that didn't happen, although the one that did brought down several big trees. Trees here are big compared to Vermont, saw a car in the neighborhood that had been crushed by a falling primary limb. Don't you think the quiet chain saw is a concept long overdue? The racket when the sound is reflected among all the houses is incredible. Lots of energy for the work, just let it happen, had an official good day on Friday heading into the full moon. Started several new things, took photos of the best and the worst of those in addition to things that are nearer completion.



      

      Layer three on this one, working to balance more and less saturated greens, get that living quality of morning fog in the process of lifting. This morning has always meant a tremendous amount to me, an incredible sense of dawning possibility. After sixteen years, might almost understand it well enough at this point to make a larger one. I have a friend whose teacher in graduate school told them there has never been a good green painting. This is similar to the famous Roger Frye comment that yellow-green is simply not an artistic colour. Find myself thinking about this sort of comment while working on this, glad that my life had conspired to make that sort of pronouncement impossible. I really like this one in life so of course it didn't take a good photograph. About 21x9.5 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      The overlook on the way to Farr Cross, I made a nice small version of this, then a larger version so bad it seemed best to destroy it. Mid-size version, a good example of getting so involved in mapping it out that the feeling gets left on the platform. I liked mapping it out, but there's more to find. Frustrated with this now but that's usually what moves things forward, the next layer will feature denser paint and some transformation. About 20x12 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Did some work on white peonies this week. Started this in June, layer five or six, getting to the point where I like it, a nice balance of painterly paint and observation. More to go, but this one seems to have gone further somehow. Changed to the Princeton 6300 instead of the 6100, this made a difference. The 6100 is white synthetic, the 6300 is also synthetic but a little more like bristle, but still finer working than bristle. I'm being encouraged to talk more about how I feel about these paintings. This is of course difficult, since they are incredibly personal, a way to communicate something deeply but also optionally, but I'm going to try. The white peony is something I became fascinated by a long time ago as a symbol of the divine feminine, the opposite of the vengeful dessert god concept we know so well. The flower of course has its own cosmic personality as well, like dogs where roses are like cats, joyous, goofy, so happy to bloom they just fall over. I especially like the way this one is bowing formally to the light. I've always been a great believer in the medieval concept of everything having a divine signature, remember being shocked as a kid that this was not how everyone felt, so nature isn't just stuff, it's metaphor. In some ways it seems didactic to talk about this, like its either apparent that this was conceived as something other than rendition, or its not. On the other hand, if the painter doesn't explain it, the critics assuredly will! About 12x14 inches, oil on gessoed paper mounted on canvas.



      

      Started this one a few days ago, did a mapping pass in thin paint in the afternoon, then a fuller pass the next day, still in paint that is a little more mobile. The 6300 is again helping here, more possibility to draw with the tip of the brush. Don't want to rely on the charismatic swoosh type of paint handling too much, but a little of it is fun. There's more confidence in this, or at least of knowing what I usually do that doesn't work. Thinner and more mobile paint is helping, it is simply more correctable both in the moment and in the next layer. Not done, but on its way, lighter, a good balance for the more earnest feeling of the peony above. It is interesting how specific and subterranean influences can be. The last time I went to the Metropolitan, I was really taken by the Lawrence portrait of the comic actress Ellen Farren, a painting I would have been unable to take seriously a decade ago. A fascinating portrait that is both daring and casual, she's shy yet confident, and the quality of the paint in the head is amazingly alive. Lawrence can go over the top, and he does this in the massive white impasto of her dress, but the sense of the person herself is thoughtful, a little impish but restrained. Anyway, realized while working on this that it was influenced by the feeling of that portrait. About 13.5x15 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Example of an earlier peony, the flower had spontaneously grown too much in a previous version so I mapped this one carefully in thin paint over many layers. Ontbijtje type palette, worked on it a little this week, think it's worth pursuing, will hopefully be able to get it more informed by the more recent approach as it develops. More ebullience, oops, more restraint, the endless möbius in these. About 13x16 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.



      

      Something small that has hovered near completion for a few layers now. Not quite done, but close, this stage is very fun if I don't put it on the clock. About 11x12 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.



july 6
      

      First week of the moon, the work jumped around a bit at first, then settled down. Lovely yesterday and today, but some sultry days and thunderstorms earlier ahead of Arthur moving up the coast, the cat set a world record for motionlessness by the fan. When I was a kid, my mother would sometimes announce breathlessly on returning to the house, "It's like a sauna out there!" as though experiencing this for the very first time. I heard someone in the co-op say exactly the same thing this week, exactly the same way, so it must be a philogism. The heat used to really bother me growing up, it was almost like a gratuitous insult, but it doesn't make me nearly as grumpy now. Like the cold, it's important to get out in it, rather than retreat. Not as much can happen in a given day, it's more a matter of picking the most important things, but that's okay, the theater of summer. Wanted to get grounded in the work again after two weeks of packing in Vermont, and this week helped. Still have to go back to Vermont one more time, probably in a week. Some progress in terms of developing a system that facilitates finishing at long last, would love to feel something conclusive about the work here before I go – like it's really set up to kick total butt – but know that has to happen at its own pace. Still, it feels like the ongoing attempt to re-balance process with product continues to slowly gather momentum. Once I could stop painting long enough to breathe I got concerned about the 20th century concept of the artist as mimeograph machine, since my work seemed to embody its limitations. This began to happen in 2002 or so. Exploring more about process and the materials wrote the book, but otherwise I probably took it too far. Not that anything else could have occurred, it all seems to happen for a reason.



      

      One of the things that I'm more aware of coming back to Mt. Airy is the architecture. There are lots of really nice larger stone houses that have a European influence, then at the other end there's the cookie-cutter twin row houses. But here's a small row house development from early in the 20th century that was really creative. There are three different house designs, two twins, then a single with a peak between them. The single becomes a double in the series, I still can't figure out a pattern in the way they built them, it may have been that the buyer had their choice of three designs, even in combination. It was nice that they avoided the Philadelphia Tudor style in the middle design, these were popular but are kind of goofy. The Hobbity design on the left is pretty unique, this is apparently German art nouveau influenced and features roof slates that are chunky and both different sizes and colours.



      

      Returned in the last few weeks to something that worked a while ago, a small amount of larch balsam added to the putty. Maybe five percent by volume, so the amount in the actual paint is about two percent. I like this as a way of making a dense putty more mobile, there's a decrease in thixotropy but an increase in sequestering, the paint dries more as it is placed in layers, rather than in or down. I'm not the biggest fan of resin, or maybe of its almost ubiquitous overuse these days when it gets used, but technical art history does report "small amounts" of pine resin in paintings that are fine after several centuries, so I'm going with that concept here. It gets things done, but I'm a little conflicted about the way it saturates the paint, I like oil better for this, so this approach may be temporary. Also, it's always fascinating to find ways to emulate resin without it, so that may be next.



      

      Another local scene, the same one as last week but slightly different view and sunny day. Lots of relatively dense paint in two layers on a relatively textured ground, but it could go even further. The issue is how to simplify the information, what to leave in, what to take out. This type of image might be a prime candidate for some ink studies. I like the first one better overall but this one is going somewhere a little more lyrical that might have potential. I'll let it sit and do more of these as they occur. About 9.5x12 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Put two more layers on the small squash from last week. This is set up, but don't love the composition, and it still needs some general adjustment, might take a few more layers to complete. I'd like to avoid too much detail in fine paint, the sort of thing that can just go on and on, so will keep doing this with paint that has more body and see what happens. About 8x13 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Put a second layer on the small study of treelets in the fog from last week. Like this better, but still see more that could be done without getting into detail, which is interesting. About 6x13 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Started a larger version of the treelets in the fog image and got three layers on it. Envisioned this as a copy of the small one, loose and atmospheric, but that just did not want to happen. An example of best laid plans, these images often have a will of their own. Maybe next time, or maybe the larger scale just defines something different. I'll keep going with this, there's a nice balance of detail and atmosphere coming, would like to take it further, resolve the leaf pattern edge situation more. About 9.5x21 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Larger start on something that worked out at the smaller scale, setting this up in big pieces with recession but in relatively thin paint. Tuscany, a drive-by on the highway but I couldn't resist and if you can't, there's usually a reason. My goal here is three layers, but who knows? It's nice to have broken out of the small scale for these, that only worked up to a point. About 13x18 inches, oil on Arches Huile.



      

      Back in Philadelphia this week. Warm and sunny, unpacked and got back into the work a little bit here. The week included the bitter end of the old moon and the new moon, this is always an interesting transition in terms of energy. Made a technical change, small but significant, more significant than I thought it could be, details below. Showing once again that there's always more to discover. A given territory can be explored, but become new again through applying what's been learned since it was visited. But this always comes as a surprise, since I thought I knew about that place already. A new beginning brings up the perennial tension or dialogue between certainty and uncertainty, the known and the unknown, the plan and the moment. I see planning as the diving board, allowing more air to be attained. What happens in the air is still a function of the creative process, and still beyond conscious control. It's true that planning involves risk, but it's also true that it supplies a developmental tension that is unavailable otherwise. Oh well, I guess in larger terms it's all a matter of taste and opinion. Yet, these are areas where feelings run quite deep. Perhaps this opinion, being nuanced, is intrinsically invalid in the current arena. Another reason to just make the work and run.



      

      I correspond with some people who have gotten into working with the oil. I admit that this is pretty geeky, but the more information we can accrue as a group, the more we'll be able to pass on to the future. Anyway, some interesting things are going on. This is one of them, a photo of some oil washed by Craig Svare. The original idea was to let the oil sit on water in the light in a wide container for a year as a way of refining it. Then Craig had to move, so he decided to wash the oil in plain water and see what would happen. So, this is a photo of the oil after that wash. If you've ever washed oil in water, you know that a great deal has been removed in one wash as a result of the oil sitting on water for four months. So, this sitting on water idea may well have application if there's no immediate need for the oil.






      

      There are lots of different kinds of urban landscapes around here, Mt Airy is moderately prosperous, but there's still an empty lot here and there, a sketchy or lost area. This one is on a corner, really too small to do much with, so has remained for decades. The area is compelling for me in general since I grew up here, but there's a lot to learn about the art of it, what to leave in, what to take out. It's easier to invent or alter architecture than trees or clouds, but the whole thing still has to work as a transformation. Based I think on the feeling of a Boldini study of the outskirts of Paris in the Gere collection I've always liked. Started this last week, first one in a while to use resin in the putty. Added a very small amount, but this was enough to create a more relaxed and sticky paint on a ground with fine sand that held a lot. The paint was dry the next day, a little bit of a surprise since the resin was larch balsam, but it's pretty warm, and I only used a little bit. Came back with another layer that fixed a few small things, this one seems finished. A little moody, a bright overcast day that seemed very Philadelphia, wanted to see if I could get at the whole "ruins in the landscape" thing of the nineteenth century without being sentimental or didactic. Detail below, about twice life size. About 9.5x13.5 inches, oil on gessoed paper.





      

      Layer three on this peony, it was close in layer one but not really there so I decided to just go in again without pausing. This is always a question: the first layer contains a lot of good energy, but may not contain closure. It's been solved by scraping back – Manet, Morandi, in different ways – or by adding more paint – Rembrandt, Monet, again in different ways. I don't mind how long it takes, since the puzzle long since ceased to be agonizing, and the whole 20th century worship of spontaneity alone seems to be another form of limitation. But, realistically, I'm running out of time, so I'm trying to figure out a way out of the endless loop of development with these. I'm kind of fascinated by the lumpiness of this, its ungainliness, the antithesis of the usual obsequious floral. Next layer might be conclusive, just need to remember to pummel it more, caress it less. About 13x15 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Returned to the use of a little resin, a favorite image, separate but on the same road. Made this from a tiny old pastel rather than the photo, a feeling-first approach, although I know the photo pretty well after sixteen years. Fine broken surface, cycling back and forth in the triad for the most atmosphere. Pushed the medium to see how much it would layer, this depends a little on the ground too. I'll do more to this but it was fun, a good step towards creative production. I'd love to figure out a way to do exactly this without resin, not critical technically but it's always been possible in the past so we'll see. About 7x13 inches, oil on gessoed paper.



      

      Last beginning of the week, an older image I've been wanting to do again. Same paint with a little resin, different ground and thinner application. This one had some time constraints on it, was just able to set it up. In some ways, this is a good idea, allows more consideration of the finishing procedure by factoring in more time. Earth colours plus a little warm and cool blue, an old favorite. About 8x14 inches, oil on gessoed paper.

      So, as is often the case, the new moon brought on something new. In a way it's old, a recasting of an approach I used years ago with damar and beeswax, but I like the look of this paint better, look forward to developing further it this week. The idea now is to accept mortality and find a way to complete paintings in days or weeks, rather than years. I was glad to do the research necessary for the book, and feel happy about the book's reception by painters who have read it. But it's time to let the research part rest and just make work with what I've learned.



june 23
      

      After endless packing and cleaning in Vermont, I came back to Philadelphia on Saturday. Still not done there, but the worst is over. Everybody in Vermont was really nice, but it was hard to be away from here. I sort of needed to recover for a few days, not so much from the trip but from the sense of dislocation. Did a small painting today based on some of the ideas that have been rattling around for the last few weeks. Waning moon, not the best time to begin things as a rule, but I had a strong feeling about the image and it didn't come out badly. Always hard to tell in the twilight what it's going to look like the next day, but it's at least a step forward. Even more than spring, there's an emotional sense of remembering to the summer here as I go out and do errands on the same streets where I grew up. The light is different here, the greens are different here, old but new. I don't feel nostalgia, certainly don't want to grow up here again, and have no anti-arcadian illusions about the larger metropolis. But the neighborhood itself is different. Maybe it's just a sense of appreciation, of getting a little closer to the heart of a place after so much time away.



june 15
      

      Full moon this week, pretty much solid warm rain here, chilly now, the sun is trying to come out this morning again after a few hours yesterday. Ah, Vermont. People at the hardware store were talking about how much they wanted to mow their lawns. The lawn as personal-communal sacrament, nature appropriately tamed and sanitized. Things here are a strangely uniform green, on the yellow side and very saturated. Looking back, a lot got done this week, had spirited help from some good friends. Volunteers when you're moving are friends indeed. There's a big pile of boxes downstairs, all the oil and books are packed, and I made a major dump run. The last time I went to the dump was a long time ago, at that point they were still being pretty evangelical, and paranoid about what people were throwing out. Now they're more accepting that trash happens, that the cycle cannot be broken at the end. It was a great relief to just unload the car and pay a pittance for the priviledge. There's a lot more packing to do, I still need to organize a lot of paintings, but everything else is simple. I guess most importantly, the sense of the house as a labyrinthian but somehow integral whole has been removed, the only logical goal is to keep boxing, cleaning, chucking. As with all larger undertakings, it's daunting in terms of envisioning the goal, but not so bad when it gets broken down into manageable increments. I've never been that much of a stuff person, but this house was large, and so, by an all too human logic, it filled up. Living in Mt. Airy for the past few months with very little in the way of possesions has actually been kind of nice. An empty room has an amazingly luxurious quality to the space, I can only use one teacup at a time, a small amount of clothing is easier to manage than my extensive collection of rags, etc. My significant other did succeed in instituting a stealth wardrobe upgrade over the last few months, so I'm walking around here in clothes less than ten years old. I've been reading an interesting book called Loving What Is by Byron Katie. It's a blunt but creative mix of classical Stoicism, especially Epictetus, Buddhism, and work on the shadow side of the personality through projecting it emotionally, rather than denying it. Her term for showing up in the present is doing the dishes. I could relate to this from cooking, when, in the end, chopping onions was much easier, meant much more, than in the beginning. So, the same thing holds true for packing: it's there, it's what needs to happen, I encounter pockets of whining but know it's easier to just do it.

       Nothing happened in the work this week, although I did manage to take pictures of more peonies. Still, I've been going through the site, unearthing things from deep within the dig, and have found a few interesting shards to consider. At this point, the work doesn't seem to change by adding new things, but by discovering new levels of what's already there. Partly this has to do with learning more about colour, and partly to do with learning more about paint. The two combine to make the subject matter itself new again. Peonies could end personally, but in larger terms could never really be finished, more would always be possible stylistically if the interest continued. So, along with the packing, there's paint rheology, paint layers, and how they might next be combined.



      

      Something from 1998 I could never bear to finish, but could't throw out either. I like the figure of a few weeks ago (below) better but this is a pose I'd like to revisit, maybe a little bigger. This is about 14x14 inches, oil on gessoed panel, single layer of a damar, stand oil, and beeswax medium.





june 8
      

      Waxing moon, lots of energy for the lots of things that are going on. Didn't get much work done this week. Decided to grind down the first layer on last week's peony and try again. This was controversial locally but I felt it wasn't done so there was nothing to do but start over. It feels better, but, as always in layer two, a little tight. The layers seem to work that way: expansion, contraction. Had more peonies come into my life and took a lot of photos of them, began one on Friday that was looser. I think this may be the way to go with a more complex subject, or at least one I have difficulty simplifying. Build the art in with the first layer, but don't do too much in terms of detail. This way, the second layer -- inevitably tighter for me -- won't get too tight. Anyway, this second image was moodier, more atmospheric, and I liked it better. Although there were time constraints and I decided to use commercial paint, which I'm sort of conflicted about. Drove back to Vermont yesterday to start the final packing. Stopped off in Bennington to meet George O'Hanlon of Natural Pigments, and Micheal Harding of the eponymous paints. These are pretty different people making very different types of paint, both quite high quality. George is interested in earth and historical colours, and Micheal is making dense, additive free concentrates that literally glow in samples. He had several large piles of paint on his table: red, yellow, green and blue, it was an arresting display. They were a little weary after the trade show, perhaps of patiently explaining endlessly that Worth & Nutting no longer makes the best art materials in the world. Micheal delivered a Pythonesque rant about painters wanting great paint for nothing. I had a good talk with George about various technical matters, and finally saw the Mayan blue in person, indigo processed with attapulgite to be more permanent. Then it was two more hours up Route 7 to Middlebury. It was a lovely day, Vermont being sparkling, well-behaved, but I noticed a lack of engagement and think that at this point, my sense of home has shifted to Mt. Airy. A lot of packing and clean up awaits in the next few weeks, but it doesn't seem as daunting now. This is something I've been noticing lately: a lot needs to happen, but the way to accomplish it seems to always arrive on time. I keep remembering an interesting image from the trip to Virginia last week. Saw all kinds of wonderful things at the botanical gardens in Richmind, but at one point was looking at a pool with water plants and a large pollywog swam into view, very close, looking right up at me. It was at the stage where it had arms, and it's head was getting more broad and frog-like. It made me wonder if I'm going through a similar metamorphosis, about halfway done. I don't really know who or what the end result will be, just that it's happening. Part of me would like to know more, or maybe control the process more. But it seems like the larger issue is to let go of who I was, an identity that had become outmoded over time, and let something creative happen not just at the easel, but in a larger frame of reference.










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