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On one occasion when I was troublesome to my master Rembrandt, by asking him too many questions respecting the causes of things, he replied very judiciously: "Try to put well in practice what you already know; in so doing you will, in good time, discover the hidden things which you now inquire about."
-- Van Hoogstraten, Inleyding, translated by Eastlake.
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| creative choices |
As in all things human, there's no free lunch with oil painting materials. The process is about making the most appropriate
choices and compromises for a goal which is often receding as fast as we are moving towards it. As in life, the truth with regard to oil painting technique is often complex: attempts to reduce it to the yes/no framework of Aristotelian logic result in a false simplicity from the false strength of the "logic" itself. Sometimes this situation is well-meaning, but more often it is misleading for a commercial purpose. True simplicity is the result of true understanding, but, paradoxically, true understanding is the result of a thorough exploration of complexity. To accept someone else's results in this field is to abrogate one's own native possibilities for creative development. Whether, as a painter, one's field even includes the craft and to what extent is a personal decision. This endeavor is not for the young gun or anyone who wants to be the next Picasso or Warhol: please see Marlowe's Doctor Faustus for more details on this procedure.
Older paintings were usually made with materials manufactured by the painter and/or the painter's workshop. Modern paintings -- nineteenth and twentieth century work -- are more typically made with materials purchased at the art supply store. It is still possible, of course, to choose to make one's own materials as part of the process of making a painting. This path is in the interesting position of being culturally sanctioned for dead painters, but often held to be equivocal for living ones: one of the many bizarre aspects of the sanitizing and intellectualizing of painting by modern academia. But if you are a painter who wants to understand the how and why of older painting techniques, if the process shares your stage with the product, the information that follows will hopefully clarify more than obfuscate and save you that most valuable of all assets, time.
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| old and in the way |
The
greatest number of e-mails I get are from painters who would like to
start painting in the older manner but are puzzled about how to do this
observing the rules outlined by the various modern painting professors.
My feeling is that this cannot be done, or that, if it can, it's still
easier and more reliable to do it the old way. The modern academic
system and 15th-17th century working methods involve very different
materials and methods; there is no OM analogue, for example for the standard dammar and stand oil medium of Ralph Mayer. You would think that somewhere, in thousands of pages of text, you would find various spirit resin varnishes and oils mixed for use in painting. But you don't, they were used separately. The only historical example available is the Van Dyck medium which fused a small amount of resin into the heat-bodied oil. The differences go on: The rheology of handmade paint is long and
elastic, that of tube paint is short and buttery: the mediums differ
drastically, dammar was little used until the early19th century and commercial stand oil is not a 17th
century material. Older techniques existed as part of a gestalt or
living whole, developed by generations of craftsmen throughout centuries. They often do not make sense or work correctly when
isolated and/or tested out of context. This has been exploited by
various authors to "empirically prove" that these methods don't work or
have fatal flaws, without any reference to the clear evidence of the paintings themselves.
What is clear from the older texts and the hard technical information
from current conservation sources is that the number of materials which
can be used effectively in decided moderation is
extensive. At the same time, it is also clear that, in the case of painters such as Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Velasquez, the principle manipulations were of the oil.
The use of a given system or material must be viewed
within the context of all the processes involved in making the work,
otherwise its purpose may be misconstrued or lost entirely. It's
critical to understand this and to view earlier "expert" research and opinions
in this light: this is exactly where older painting practice gets
subtle in ways unimaginable to anyone who has not made a genuine effort
to reconstruct it. This is where well-meaning writers like Laurie, Doerner, or Maroger came acropper. Maroger tried to impose a logical system of medium development on several centuries of highly subtle invention without any reference to handmade paint. What's more incredible is that he was, and is, taken seriously. This is not to say that everything he offers is bad practice, but as a systemic explanation it is both woefully artificial and drastically incomplete. Doerner argues in several places for technical simplicity, but contradicts this with an inability to resist the complexity available to the professorial mind.
There is nothing "wrong" with the standard 20th century
academic system: although the dynamic duo of dammar and stand oil have
proved less ideal than Ralph Mayer thought, they can be easily replaced
by Canada Balsam or Silver Fir Turpentine and Sun Oil in the system. But this system is technically limited and, as with reform
in general, the living element of a complex gestalt generated over time is replaced by The Rules.
There's also an element of editorial simplification or
collectivization: the modern system bears the same relation to the old
system as the Hollywood version does to the original novel: vastly simplified for more general acceptance. Is it therefore surprising that the most fundamental principle, to say nothing of the resulting nuances, have all been lost? Unfortunately, no recent mainstream writer has made an effort to
understand or resurrect the older technology: a technology which has so
inconveniently been preserved in museums, quite obviously has a lot to
offer, and about which those impertinent living painters are constantly
asking embarrassing questions. Those questions are in the process of being answered at the molecular level by modern conservation research, especially through the yearly Technical Bulletins from London's National Gallery.
The research
I've done has been more experiential than laboratorial: while I do now know about tri-glycerides and double carbon bonding, this isn't critical to the results. The process has involved un-learning all the modern rules based on the behavior of raw oil tube paint and
absorbing a much more lively system of materials and techniques from
various historical sources matched with modern research: there is no single magical mystery text here
that I've found, but rather a series of patterns of information developing, being
repeated or not. So if you perhaps number yourself among the impertinent, or
the open minded, you might consider the fundamental break that has to be made with the modern
system in order to access the older one. This break involves beginning to make your own materials so that you can get to know what's really going on with them. At first this
may seem daunting or create a kind of period-shock. It can be done bit by bit if
necessary, pick an area to explore in depth, but the more you do it --
especially in relation to the information available in the texts below
-- the more I believe you'll find that, in good time, the hidden things
are in fact revealed. The older system is not rocket science, but it is
about developing a functional dialog with the materials at a level far
beyond anything imaginable in the current devolved, commercialized context. For
a while you may find yourself puzzled, in a labyrinth without the key.
For me the key was realizing that I had to become a psychic citizen of
the 17th century. Which has been a great relief, to tell the truth.
I'm not an academic painter or a strict
reconstructionist, but the more I've worked with the materials --
making the paint, making the varnish, making the medium, making the
ground -- the more they've explained themselves and their meaning. I
don't bury new-glazed pipkins in dungheaps for a fortnight, but I've
found a similar source of constant low heat to be helpful. This process
does not involve a simple or single answer, but it does explain the
quick devolution of the craft once painters became professional
aesthetes and let the colormen make their materials for them. While
there have of course been well-meaning and dedicated colormen such as
Roberson or Blockx, unless the painter is viscerally connected to his
or her materials, a crucial grounding element is at risk. It is impossible to state this with enough force. The
overarching quality of 17th century painting is its humanity. The
overarching quality of 20th century painting is its intellectual
restlessness and alienation. While there are many other elements
involved it seems worth mentioning that I've found the simple necessary
rituals of the craft to be helpful at a deeper level than is perhaps
logical to the lofty modern mind. The Buddhist attitude towards ritual -- a
form of limitation which creates freedom -- might be invoked here: the
creative aspect of painting is compelling, but seldom peaceful, the
craft provides a healthy balance. A more playful benefit has been the
endless interest resulting in solving an endless puzzle. At least, I've
found that the materials have their own internal logic and that this
begins to lead to interesting places based on its interaction with
one's own internal aesthetic proclivities. I'm not saying this
enterprise will make you rich or famous, but these matters are
naturally viewed in a different way when the craft becomes operative as
a guide. There's an applicable medieval idea derived from the Hermetic
teachings: that all earthly materials have a specific signature of the
divine. As the idea of a "code" has become more culturally current, it
might be acceptable to suggest that the real code is Nature itself,
whose secrets have always been hidden in plain sight.
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| history |
From 2002 through 2006 I became very involved in exploring the materials used in older painting. This unique combination of research and snipe hunt ultimately developed a life of its own which was fun if a bit obsessive at times. At the end of 2006 I realized that, just a suddenly as it had begun, the more active part of this search was over. This was due to the realization that no Holy Grail existed: I had reconstructed many older ways of working and the next step was to explore one in depth. This decision quickly proved effective in terms of the work. Although most of the emphasis in this department is usually on resins and mediums, I found that I made the most progress ultimately by addressing the oil itself (see recipes in Formulas). This brings up the subject of balance, and the way older methods and materials existed as a gestalt or family. I found that by eliminating raw oil from the process, and always using oil which had been, in the words of the National Gallery Bulletins, slightly heat-bodied, I was able to devise a process with much less hard resin (amber, copal) involved because the reaction of the resin was dramatically enhanced by the heat bodied oil. This oil is not thickened significantly, and using modern methods can be made without darkening, but it creates paint with a different rheology than modern tube paint. This also helped to create paint which dries quickly with a minimum addition of resin or drying oil. So, the family of materials that came together, using the Strassburg Method (see Formulas) as a point of departure, is:
- Panels covered with linen and glue gesso made with titanium white, quartz, and marble dust.
- Paint made with various heat bodied oils.
- Small amount of hard resin added to the paint on the palette. Usually amber, homemade from light-colored Latvian jewelry waste.
- Paint on the palette may be further enriched in finishing layers with small addition of walnut sun oil, usually dark colors.
- Initial layers thinned with turpentine, subsequent layers thinned with painting oil (see Formulas for recipe).
- Very thin couch used in final layers using Fir Medium (see Formulas).
- Intermediate layers sanded lightly using 400-600 paper (see Formulas).
- White made with heat bodied oils and various combinations of lead carbonate, marble dust, and ground leaded glass. No hard resin varnish is added to the white until possibly in the final impasto stage.
- Various impasto mediums based on exposure-thickened Eminent Oil and/or walnut sun oil with inert additions of calcite, marble dust, and/or ground leaded glass used in the final layers.
But, interestingly, this "final" resin-oil process proved to be a stepping stone to something both simpler and more complex.
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| just oil |
In the winter of 2006-2007, after getting a copy of the Rembrandt book from the National Gallery "Art in the Making" series, I began more actively working on a system involving just oil, no resin, following the technical findings of the book with regard to Rembrandt's paint. This system has progressed in the year of 2007 to encompass materials that were beyond anything I could have imagined. But then, I was prejudiced in favor of resins, and had a limited imagination with regard to oil. In 2008 I'm continuing to refine what can be done with a simple mixture of stone dust and oil, it continues to boggle my mind. Commercial putties are beginning to appear, a commercial silica gel has appeared. The important thing to understand here is that these are easy materials to make, and make to exactly your own way of working. The crucial factor is the quality of the oil.
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It turns out that a great many things can be done within the context of refining, heating, aging, sun-thickening, and adding traditional driers to the oil.
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| system |
So much about painting works against system: it's at least good to have one in mind. There are two I use, and they are opposites. The first is an alla prima system which starts from a warm, dark, transparent, medium-rich underpainting and moves towards cool, light, opaque paint through translucent midtones. Because the paint is going on in one continuous wet-in-wet layer, this system can use a rich, thixotropic medium with as much abandon as I can effectively handle. I use this technique for studies from life in the studio and for landscapes outside.
The second system uses layers and works from cool towards warm. The underpainting is done in black and white with a small amount of red earth for the shadows. The values in the underpainting are kept very high, with no true darks. As the painting progresses, the values drop slowly: the medium becomes richer, and the darks become darker while still maintaining transparence. In the final layers, impasto can be built up in the lights.
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| lost and found |
The search for lost secrets began in earnest in the first half of the nineteenth century, both Eastlake and Merimee concluding that older paintings had fared better over time due to their hard resin content, the use of amber or copal varnish in the paint. Eastlake traced the addition of a resin varnish back to the fifteenth century Strassburg Manuscript, and in England in the nineteenth century a resin revival took place, amber and copal mediums being popular as well as various varieties of mastic gel medium. Modern research done by the National Gallery in London on older paintings has turned up very little in the way of hard resin used in the paint: some pine resin in Van Dyck but no mastic even, a few soft resin glazes in Rembrandt but almost all paint samples simply reading as linseed oil. Velásquez has long been known to have used simply calcite and sun oil. There has been an undercurrent among painters and scholars that the research wasn't "finding everything". Given the nineteenth century involvement with resin and old master effects, this seemed only logical. But the research has found sandarac varnish layers that are approximately five centuries old, one a spirit varnish and one an oil varnish. In this context its important to note that the nineteenth century was also involved in commercially prepared paint made with raw oil and further modified to prevent it from drying in the tube. Experience has shown that it's possible, using various combinations of modified oil, to produce the sculptural and thixotropic effects associated with hard resin varnishes: see below. The key to this is that the paint itself -- and/or the putty medium -- must be made with what the National Gallery Bulletins call a "slightly heat-bodied oil". Not raw oil. The use of raw oil paint leads to the perceived need for resin.
De Mayerne recorded that Gentileschi used amber varnish, and De Mayerne himself was an amber enthusiast. But the Gentileschi painting analyzed by the Getty proved to be made with copal varnish. For me the summary effect of all this information is to question how much these secrets have been lost, and how much many of them have simply been found. There are many ingenious combinations of materials possible, especially in the realm of resins and gels, it goes on and on. But it seems to get art tangled up in the idea of gnosis: that a specific form of arcane knowledge is necessary for the success of an endeavor. But real art and real painting exist beyond the realm of ideas in the realm of commitment. The search for secret ingredients and formulas is not a substitute for the genuine practice of the craft. This is the essence of Rembrandt's advice to Van Hoogstraten: the authentic craft develops naturally from one's own experience. So, it seems reasonable to suggest that the search should not be for the lost secrets, but for one's own practice. This is in fact easy, you start making things. At first they won't probably be great materials, but if you are cut out for this that will not daunt you in the least because you will realize that you are finally headed in the right direction: the living craft.
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| the great linseed oil purification ritual |
In the winter of 2007, I took the Allback Organic Cold Pressed Swedish Linseed Oil and refined it according to the instructions in De Mayerne, Eastlake, Merrifield, et al, using water, sand, and salt. It took six weeks for it to stop expelling, the final wash was with water. The final oil was lighter, but slightly cloudy. I then put various inert substances of the literature into it, including barytes, marble dust, and bread crumbs, but clarification happened quickly, along with an element of lightening, when I added a small amount of lead carbonate, again one of the historical additions recommended in De Mayerne. Comparison photo of the oil as it arrives and the lighter oil after processing. The processed oil is thinner, having been essentially de-fatted. It also seems to dry differently, not forming a skin but thickening throughout. It also dries much faster than the raw oil, which I'd point out in the context of the current interest in unrefined oil. Beyond this I haven't gone yet, as of July 2007, but there are still several avenues to explore even at this stage. In a situation where someone actually knew what they were doing, this process would still take at least two months. Somehow I don't see this as the starting point of any modern manufacturing process.
There are many paints which are still made with linseed oil. Sometimes the manufacturers point to recent research which shows, for example, that Rembrandt's medium was principally linseed oil. However, Rembrandt's medium was not the alkali refined oil expressed by heat of modern commerce. So, just from the point of view of that battered immensely inconvenient old problem, the truth, it's important to realize that commercial tube paint, whatever the claims of the manufacturer and well-known modern artists who use it, is still commercial tube paint, with a specific set of pros and cons by its very nature. While it may be made with linseed oil, that oil is very different than the linseed oil used by older painters.
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| linseed oil update 1-08 |
The first linseed oil I refined by washing it with salt, sand, and water, is almost a year old. I've been keeping it in the window. The recent samples taken a month ago appear to be yellowing less, this is about at the yellowing rate now of refined walnut oil. A test I made using the acid activated bentonite bleaching clay of commerce has finally cleared after months and lost all color. It is very slow to dry, though, logical. But might prove a good starting point for another procedure. The experiments with an oil treated with litharge have proven to give the oil which dries the fastest of all linseed oils made in the tests, about 48 hours in winter, low heat but also low humidity. This also appears to yellow less as it ages: even two to three months aging produces an oil which yellows at the low rate of refined walnut oil, perhaps less. The cold leaded oil also dries differently, has very little tendency to form a skin in the usual manner.
At this point it seems like the most crucial factor is the cold-pressed organic oil and aging in sunlight after processing. While neither of these processes yields, for example, something which dries as truly clear as the long-to-dry sunflower oil, they both yield oils which are pale straw color on drying and dry quickly: the washed in three days, the cold-leaded oil in two.
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| linseed oil update 4-08 |
I placed all the oil I originally washed in the windowsill. some was closed, some was open to the air through a lid of folded cheesecloth. This oil has become a pale straw color, just noticeably lighter than the remaining oil, which has also lightened over the year. I've been using this oil in various putty formulas for the last few months, it dries quickly and hard. Yellowing tests show it to yellow at about the rate of walnut oil.
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| heat bodied oil |
"Heat pre-polymerization has several effects on the oil. Drying properties are improved and are further enhanced by the addition of metal salts (usually those of lead) during the process. The refractive index of the oil is increased, thus reducing light scattering at the pigment-medium interface and thereby increasing the saturation of the pigment colour; the paint film may also have a glossier appearance. The pigment is less liable to sink in the oil film, which itself decreases less in volume than a conventional oil film, reducing the amount of wrinkling that may occur. White paints appear less discoloured because, as the polyunsaturated fatty acids initially present in the paint film are destroyed by the formation of carbon-carbon single bonds, there is less scope for the formation of chromophoric and auxochemic groups, the presence of which give the yellow appearance to the film." From Rembrandt and his Circle: Seventeenth-Century Dutch Paint Media Re-Examined by Raymond White and Jo Kirby. National Gallery Technical Bulletin volume 15.
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| heat-bodied paint |
An example of paint made with "slightly heat-bodied oil". Also an example of something that is a genuine aspect of older painting. I make it relatively soft for a longer life in the tube but the body given the paint by the heated oil is still quite apparent. This is old Mount Amiata Raw Sienna, a great color.
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| calcium putty |
This is made with finely ground calcite or marble dust mixed with a mix of semi-heat bodied and sun walnut oil. It can be made in any degree of thickness and acts as an immobilizing medium in various degrees. It can also be thinned with solvent or a small amount of thinner oil. This should be tubed for long term storage or made fresh on the palette. There are many different varieties of calcium carbonate: natural and precipitated chalk, marble dust, the whiting sold to potters. They all have slightly different characteristics in putty: marble dust being more gluey or slumpy, natural chalk absorbing almost twice as much oil and having more mobility and natural thixotropy. The ratio of thin to thick oil also comes to bear here. Putty can be made to work with the finest method, or the most expressive.
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| evolved putty |
Made with a combination of calcium carbonate, cristobalite, and a small proportion of bentonite. Whiter without the bentonite, but this gives it an extra ability to make detail as seen in this close-up.
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| egg putty |
Small amounts of egg -- whole, yolk, white -- can be added to a putty to create different qualities of seizure. Photo here of two tests of a chalk-linseed oil putty with a small addition of egg white.
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| putty possibilities |
A painting putty can be made with a somewhat dizzying variety of inert ingredients and oils. There are several varieties of calcium carbonate available. A chalk putty is soft, natural chalks tend to have a warm or cool tone, chalk is the most widely used ingredient found in older paintings. A marble dust or calcite putty is more adhesive, the widely available Fredericks marble dust works well for this, very white, relatively transparent in oil. There are also many commercial marble dust mixtures available in bulk from pottery suppliers, the minimum mesh for a gritless putty is #400. Gypsum, calcium sulphate, can be used. Blanc fixe, barium sulphate, can also be used and is virtually transparent in oil. The fine silicas available to potters can be used as well, these add an unusual dryness to the putty, use all possible caution and wear a serious respiratory mask when dealing with fine silica. Another interesting and very fine silica is the cristobalite available from Kremer, alas no longer in this country. Another completely transparent silica would be one of the many very fine fumed silicas available. I've used Cabosil, serious respiratory warning here, very light and flocculant material. Bentonite adds a characteristic bounce, or boing, but makes for a more colored putty even in small amounts. Leaded glass and fine glass "beads" can also be used, but both of these will impart a bit of grit to the mixture.
With the oils used to make a putty, I've stayed away from any raw oil when using the putty with commercial paint. The foundation oil is a walnut oil heated to a little over 100C for three or four days. A small amount of sun oil or other thicker oil can be added for a putty which dries with a gloss. Even in very small amounts, a burnt plate oil contributes significantly to the saturation of the putty, see Formulas for more on these interesting oils. Sun oil is also possible and is a traditional ingredient in the calcite putty of Velásquez, although probably not made as thickly as the usual sun oil of commerce. The thinner Kremer sun oils might be more appropriate here, although sun oil of this viscosity is easy to make oneself.
A commercial putty is available from Sennelier, but it has everything but the kitchen sink in it, unnecessary.
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An assortment of putties from the ever increasing local collection. Number one above is made with Graphic Chemical calcium carbonate, finer and less gluey than marble dust, good for fine work but still pretty adhesive. Number two is a natural chalk putty with a small addition of egg white which increases the spring or boing, can be used with soft brushes in spite of apparent viscosity. More mobile than Number one. Number three is natural chalk with a small addition of Cabosil. Very different as a result, a bit gelatinous, even more slide. Number four is a marble dust putty, needs to be on the thinner side for finer work. Number five is a more dense marble dust putty using small additions of Burnt Plate Oil as well. For use with bristle brushes, soft brushes could not budge this.
Below, detail of a rose in progress made with a mixed putty system, putty does not need to be thick. Four times life size, two working sessions on successive days.
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| consistency |
 One of the things it took me a while to figure out was that the inherent adhesiveness of the putty would overcome a looser or thinner consistency, that it didn't need to sit up in order to alter the paint appropriately. So, over time, I've found myself making putties that are thinner but also maintaining a small amount of burnt plate oil for saturation, see recipe below.
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| a simple putty |
A good example of how much trial and error it takes to make something simple, this recipe took over a year to develop. 1 cup chalk, 2T 72 hour walnut oil, 4T 48 hour walnut oil, 2T Allback boiled linseed oil, 1t sun oil. Nice balance of movement and body, will break if tubed or stored but that's not an issue in practice. A small amount of Cabosil keeps it from breaking but produces a very different feel, much more slide. A small amount of egg white produces a slight increase in thixotropy and set.
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| a complex putty |
Designed to create soft and mobile paint with great saturation, more for expressive than tight work, much more. Amount is just a little more than a large Kremer tube.
1c marble dust, 1c Imsil A-25 silica, 5T walnut oil, heated 72 hours to about 240F, 1T 2 hr fumed walnut oil, 1T BPO #5, 1T BPO #7. Burnt plate oils are from Graphic Chemical. Silica is optional, can be chalk or all marble dust. Can of course be thickened or thinned with experience on the palette, these recipes are incredibly flexible.
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| putty extension |
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Blockx Ultramarine Light, cut with approximately one, two, four, eight, and sixteen parts putty.
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The mixtures showing the slight opacity of the putty medium allowing an unusual control over value without the use of white.
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 The one to sixteen blue from above with approximately twice the amount of putty medium.
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 The above mixed showing various textures possible and the manner in which a putty medium can be used to make a translucent film which operates as neither a glaze nor a scumble.
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| putty variations |
There are many interesting variations possible based on the idea of fine inert stone dusts and various combinations of oil.
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As this gel sits overnight, it clarifies. Shown, a slice of it, about an inch or so high, on the palette. Not as fast to dry as the putties, but virtually transparent. Made with fumed silica, the commercial variety Cabosil.
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| thickened eminent oil |
The leaded oil recipe adapted from the first volume of Eastlake thickens and becomes gelatinous on exposure to air, will ultimately become a viscous taffy, immobilizing paint in the same manner as a thick solution of dammar. This can be replenished, lidded, etc. to control the viscosity for a particular method of working. Clouds in transit, dries clear.
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| white |
One of the features of developing this resinless system has been several different whites on the palette at once with different degrees of adhesiveness or flow. The more calcite in the paint, the more inherent adhesion. Also, the longer the paint oil has been heat-bodied, the tighter the paint in spite of puddling. A very small amount of solvent or unheated oil will introduce flow. This picture illustrates the general chaos that accompanies this procedure, but in the end it seems one white at each end of the stick-flow axis will be enough.
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| rheology |
Below is a series of illustrations of different rheologies possible with lead white without the use of resins.
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The players. Left: a tube of lead white made with walnut oil that has been heated to about 225 degrees F for 72 hours. Middle: The yolk of an organic egg. Right: Sun walnut oil.
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The white as it comes out of the tube is dense but slumpy and adhesive, somewhat stringy but stays put.
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A small amount of egg yolk is added.
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The white seizes dramatically, essentially becoming an immobile mass.
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Dense, crisp white with egg yolk incorporated. Will make highly defined detail and/or stiffen other paints significantly.
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Sun walnut oil added.
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The paint relaxes and strings readily. This paint moves easily under a soft brush but also stay put.
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More egg introduced.
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Egg incorporated.
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More straight paint introduced.
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White which is smooth and bouncy but will maintain and hold significant texture.
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| two |
Another resinless method of creating a white capable of great texture is illustrated below.
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The players. On the left, a tube of white made with lead carbonate, calcium carbonate, and walnut oil that's been heated to about 225-250 F for 72 hours. On the right, a jar of modified oil. All traditional ingredients used in painting since its recorded history began: and, no resins.
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While I mix it as tightly as I can by hand, the white as it comes out of the tube is quite loose, stringy, but surprisingly adhesive.
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A very small amount of the oil is needed.
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The white begins to thicken or gel as the oil is mixed in.
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Once the oil has been mixed thoroughly, the white makes impasto which will stay put or move without being sticky. This is quite a stiff mixture, and would stiffen other colors accordingly. More white added now would make a smoother gel. However, the stiffer mix will take color on top without blending. Or can be blended a small amount through pressure of the brush. A charismatic material, but demanding.
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Slightly larger than life detail of an alla prima study of onions from life done with paint made with slightly heat-bodied oil extended with calcite putty and the white detailed above. While this isn't exactly great, the fascination of this system is that there's no limiting factor except perhaps experience on the one hand, exhaustion on the other. The paint can be added to, carved, blended, removed, to any degree. Did I mention there is no resin in this paint?
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| three |
Another white made with older technology gleaned from the National Gallery Technical Bulletins.
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Just the paint and a knife are needed.
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The paint responds to friction and becomes a tight mass.
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My hope is that the above photos will help increase the general level of understanding of the complex rheological possibilities available to the painter using a traditional system of oil alone with no additional resins. This means, in addition, no solvents, brushes are kept in oil, washed in soap and water. The more I work with this system, the more it expands: perhaps more subtly after the first year or so, but it hasn't lost a sense of constant improvement and expansion. The decision to work with this system came as a result of questioning just what motivated my prejudices with regard to resins and their use. With the exception of the clear gel variation, which employs a modern fumed silica, all materials used on this page are documented in earlier literature and were available to oil painters from the time the process was invented. There are many tricks available above, but if perchance you are interested in the deeper aspects of the craft process, the key is to study the oil.
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"Whatever comes from sight, hearing, learning from experience: this I prefer."
--Heraclitus, Fragments, XIV (circa BCE 500)
Which is why there's always more.
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Modulating the modernist maelstrom.