Tad Spurgeon oil paintings


about me
the work
the book

sound practice
black & white
putty medium
just oil
putty tutorial



A Sunday look at process and work in progress.

march 17

      Waxing moon, some of that gentle Piscean confusion off and on this week, a lack of focus now and then. More sun, always good, Spring is coming here slowly but surely now. One balmy day on Friday in which Lily returned to her old perch on the porch all day, it was great to see her calmly surveying her outdoor domain once again. More energy for the work, the first week like this in a while. Less creaky than last week, still, more to go with developing the system that was born out of last year's hiatus: it's logical but I haven't actually done it. But some of the more recent starts are over the halfway mark, beginning to feel more confidence, like I might know what to do again. Also began to refine a new linseed oil in a new way, truly coals to Newcastle at this point but couldn't resist.


      The Schumann Resonance is a measurement of very low frequencies in the Earth's electromagnetic field. For a long time is was pretty consistently around 7.83 hertz, but recently there have been lots of spikes now and then where it jumps up. The chart above covers three days; the white area on the right is an extended period of 12 hours on Saturday the 16th where the spikes went right off this chart, which ends at 40 hertz. Looked at another site and it apparently went as high as 130 hertz. There are different explanations for this, which tend to be about the Earth moving into the photon belt and a different type of cosmic background energy: literally a higher vibration for the planet and its plucky inhabitants. I began to keep track of this last year, when there were periods when I felt kind of odd, tired in a way, but also expanded, like I was being pulled out of the mundane game in order to see the bigger picture. Yesterday morning (Saturday the 16th) I felt that type of day coming on: spacey but pleasant, a day to do less, be more. It feels like I'm being re-tooled, given an opportunity for a bigger outlook. I always used to hope I could be less reactive to things like the mainstream news, now it's clear that it is a mass mind-control exercise, I don't even bother trying to figure out what's being obscured anymore by the latest round of sound and fury. If you are at all open to it, try turning it off, more peace and quiet makes it much easier to hear what's really going on. The mayhem is on the outside, the magic is on the inside.


      An oil is in the process of becoming available through Viking Sales that I wanted to try, the Ottosson cold-pressed organic oil from Sweden, a brown seed oil from a paint company designed for making paint. Haven't worked with a brown seed oil in a long time, first impressions are good, a very clean smell but older, nothing floral. I wanted to do a test of the simplest possible way of refining the oil using the emulsion approach. In theory this could be done with just water but I got waylaid by adding a little glycerin. It's always something. I wanted to add just enough to hold the emulsion but not enough so it wouldn't break with more water. Actually, I didn't add enough, it broke more quickly than I thought it would. But that's okay, a lot came out for one round of emulsifying and clearing. Photo above is the first wash in the process of clearing, lots of oil still in the bottom layer. I did three rounds of this: this one, then one with twice the water and glycerin, then one with three times the water and glycerin, removing the water and mucilage each time with a bulb baster.


      Then added 1000 ml of distilled water, and shook it to emulsify it again. It looked like a lot came out, thought maybe I'd overdone it. Also, the mucilage looked very soft, not easy to get the oil off of that.


      So I froze it overnight. The mucilage sort of sunk into the ice, the oil poured off cleanly. This was pretty simple, but I'm not sure it's done, will wash it one more time. Will do a test without glycerin next, I like the concept of progressively opening up the oil with several emulsions, then one wash with a large amount of water, but adding more water may be moot after a certain point. This approach has promise but needs more tests to get to know it better.


      The starch gel is an old friend from reading about things that have been found in Rembrandt's paint, did a lot of work with this a decade or so ago. It's also called cooked wheat paste, they have it at Talas, it's also the old-fashioned laundry starch, and what used to be used for wallpaper paste. It's not flour! Never worked with starch and the fused damar-beeswax approach before, but used it this week. Probably a little too much starch, okay on panel but definitely too much for using on stretched canvas. The mixture was mobile and more adhesive than elastic, see below. The starch supplied a lot of pull or drag on the relatively lean or dry underpaintings I was working on. Sometimes too much, but it wasn't bad, better to have things a little lean at this stage.




      First one of the week, the paint pulled a lot on this one and I got pretty involved with the background color. I'd love to keep it in the blue range but it may need to be greener or more neutral. An improvement but there's more to do here. 10x13 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.


      Wanted to integrate the foreground and background more in this one, ended up making a lot of adjustments, a little mushy, more to go but on its way somewhere new. About 12x15 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.


      The paint wasn't the best match for this one on the ground, which was still pretty absorbent, but I liked how it came out. Was focused on getting the light and the blossom and jar integrated, forgot to put another layer on the label. This will inevitably get more precise, so I want it a little more blunt at this point. The viewer's expectation is that this type of painting will be perfect in a certain way, that makes me want to figure out a different type of solution. 11x12.5 inches, oil on gessoed linen on panel.


      A thin and somewhat darker underpainting from last fall that was designed with a little too much colour, put a thin and less saturated layer on this one to clean it up. A little warmer in life. There are several of these, this one has the nicest feeling so far. 11x12.25 inches, oil on gessoed canvas over panel.


      Second layer on this one, a little small again for what the paint wanted to do, but fun to work on after concentrating on still life. A little too much overall chroma still. About 12.5x7.75 inches.



march 10

      First week of the moon, winter held on for most of the week but now looks to be departing relatively quickly. It wasn't that cold ever and no major snow events but the roller coaster effect made it seem longer than it was. With the new moon, a definite sense of gentle expansion on the one hand, but also confusion off and on, almost as though time itself is going in and out of focus. Well, something's sure going on with time. I feel good at this point with adapting to what wants to happen, can kind of feel better how to prioritize instead of pushing too hard. The challenge is when nothing happens, or I'm not at all sure what is happening. Being remains an issue compared to doing. Still, the book arrived, was fine, and started selling pretty well, see below, and I got an underpainting on one of the new panels. Am still figuring this out. On the one hand, I'd like this stage of the work to look more resolved, but on the other hand, it really can't be without defeating the purpose of the underpainting to explore the image incrementally in very thin and lean paint. Hopefully the slow beginning will lead to a brighter and more definitive finish.


      The books arrived on Monday afternoon, in eighteen boxes, a total of 630 lbs. Arrival in the snow, as usual. The UPS guy was, as always, not pleased. But when it became clear I would bring them all in myself he got a little wind in his sails, and we had a decent time of it. Opening the first box was a little intense, as I'd never seen a full-fledged proof or the new cover, but it was centered well, and even a little brighter than I thought it would be. It took a while to figure out where to put the boxes, but they were out of the way in a few days, some good new terrain for Lily in a few spots. Double wall boxes with only fourteen books per box, very little damage compared to the past, always nice.


      It's not quite this bright, but decently bright. I still like the slightly softer or moodier idea but it may well have taken another month of proofs to get it. The most important things this time were to have it feel more contemporary and happy, and to be easy to find when it gets buried in studio detritus. Sold a great many of these compared to a regular book week, thanks everyone and please let me know if you have any questions!


      Was able to get one of the new panels started this week. The watercolour layer on this one was on the day that the books arrived, between checking up on that and Lily bugging me for something still haven't figured out, probably just to stop since I was so basically distracted, that layer was definitely sub-par, but it doesn't really matter since the idea is to refine it slowly but surely anyway. Bottom two layers are with oil, the one on the right is with the putty made with chalk and lamp oil, the one on the left is with less of that putty, with a small amount of starch gel added. Larger photo of that one below. Very thin paint so far. I think a little starch may be a good idea for this style, but not this soon. A little creaky so far, but I like where the colours are, and that I had the sense to remove the extra paint from the blossom. We'll see where it goes from here. Time for lots more paint, or another defining layer with just a little saturation? 11x12.5 inches, oil on gessoed linen on panel.



march 3

      A colder week with some sun, then the snow and rain mix that is rapidly becoming a local specialty. Kind of the meteorological equivalent of scrapple coming out of the sky. Waning moon, had a few days of functional enthusiasm and got some new panels together, but then on Friday afternoon kind of hit a wall, plug pulled. This was one of the new features of 2018 and I began to look into possible causes over the year: astrological, Schumann Resonance, solar flares, magnetic storms, etc. And while this gave me a sense that something was definitely up in general, which the closure of that observatory in New Mexico did nothing to lessen, there was really no definitive pattern. So, took a nap, have learned to just rest these things out. And after I woke up from the nap, I felt different. Not a lot different, but different enough to notice. Sort of like, instead of the old personality continuing to dissolve, a new personality was beginning to take shape. So, this was pretty exciting after about a year of watching my former self circle the drain. Of course, I'd begun to, well, not complain, but request a little more clarity. Over the years I've learned I have more say in this process than I was brought up to think: that if I ask, there's necessarily a response. It may be oblique, it may be direct, it may be a dream indicating why what I'm asking for is not really in my best interests, but the request is not ignored. I was taught to be very independent, and this works well to an extent in life, but in larger terms it's possible to be too tough, there's no dialogue, just the small "I" without the larger "Thou." I was mad enough for various reasons to try this for a long time, long enough that it has been a great relief to stop. And now I can see that I needed to learn the limits -- the profound limits -- of the independent "I" concept itself. New edition of the book arrives in the week to come, a little early, UPS is telling me the fourth and fifth. This manages to dodge the serial installments of snow and rain, but the fifth is the day that Mercury goes retrograde so hopefully that swiftly mischievous planet will be busy causing trouble somewhere other than with UPS in East Mt. Airy. With my old bindery, so much went wrong, for so long, in every conceivable way, that, at this point, a large delivery like this is a little fraught. It's interesting to try to be positive about something when so much experience has been the opposite, sort of life's great challenge in a nutshell. New moon on the sixth, with sun and moon conjunct Neptune and Uranus entering Taurus from Aries, this one looks like the beginning of something really new, appropriate for the month when the solar year actually begins, and long overdue in my humble opinion. The Neptune influence has the potential for inaugurating either greater awareness or confusion in the collective unconscious -- I mean, it will manifest as both, depending on the orientation of the individual -- and Uranus in Taurus will result in some long term revolutionary changes regarding the concepts of possessions and property. These may be on the abrupt side compared to the influence of Neptune, Uranus tends to take no prisoners when it kicks out Saturn's old order; even America may implement a more ethical or win-win approach to the distribution of wealth over the next few years. This is of course a pretty brief overview, if you'd be interested in hearing an exceptionally good astrologer talk about what this new moon is about, go here.


      I'm trying to minimize processed food, especially stuff that has sat on a shelf for months, this is an experiment to see how this affects what you might call low-grade systemic inflammation. For a while I've been working on this idea of a simple cracker without wheat. I tried it with barley flour, and liked that, but I can't get organic barley flour locally or grind whole barley right now: well I can, but its a pain. So I shifted to oats, I can grind steel-cut oatmeal. So, these are a half cup of steel-cut oats, ground finely, but not too finely, 1 tablespoon of oil, such as ev olive oil, or ghee, 2 tablespoons plus 1/2 teaspoon of water, and a pinch or two of sea salt. The oil gets rubbed into the oat flour, then the water and salt are added. The dough starts out a little soft and sticky but firms up as the oat flour absorbs the water. Then you make them into five or six small cakes, and either bake them in the oven on about 300 (just a guess, maybe 325) or (what I've been doing) on top of the stove in a covered skillet on low heat, careful here because they burn easily, about 12-15 minutes on each side. They're plain but very nice as is, crumbly and relatively sweet. You could also add a tablespoon of coarsely chopped up raisins to the dough. You can of course double, triple, quadruple the recipe but this is a nice scale at which to learn how this translates to your equipment. There are lots of different ways to make this type of thing, generally called Oat Cakes, most of the recipes online are from the UK, I just liked the relative primitivism of this approach.


      Lily discourages me from doing anything that doesn't make me happy. She gets right on it, busting up the situation relentlessly if need be. So it was not exactly straightforward getting my taxes done this week!


      Made some panels this week for the new approach that came together over the last year. Made them with a portrait linen, I've always avoided the strict regularity of this fabric but there's nothing chunkier at this point with an even enough weave to be put on a panel without then putting on lots of coats of gesso, and even then it's a little iffy if threads are going to end up being proud in a thinner technique. If there are heavier threads in the warp or weft, this isn't going to be an issue if the linen is stretched on canvas, but it can be a pretty big issue on panel, where they can stick out significantly. So, to compensate for the regularity of the weave, made an absorbent gesso with some tooth, this stuff feels like very fine sandpaper. I can't believe how long I've been making glue gesso and how much I'm still learning about its potential. So, have some images lined up to explore, am hoping the new moon provides an opportunity.


      I've become a big fan of the test panel, it provides a lot of information over time. Here's a recent one featuring some oils that have proven to be relatively non-yellowing, along with a few that I know are going to yellow more for contrast. There's also a test of the lead white made with leaded oil a few weeks ago, to see if it'll be 20% plumbonacrite in 400 years. A little technical art history humor there! I started this in late November, very low humidity in the winter, so a few of the samples are just beginning to darken slightly. These are all oils I know pretty well, so there shouldn't be too many surprises here, but it's always good to see things in this naked and comparative way. I do this type of test on glue or PVA gesso, if it's done on acrylic gesso there will be significant yellowing. This is a phenomenon that conservators know about, called Support Induced Discoloration, but which doesn't get that much publicity. Like many of the things that conservators know about.


      An older test panel, this one started in late 2016, and contained a lot of things I thought would darken, I just wanted to see how much. Right in the center there's some of the thick Kremer stand oil, I wanted to see if even this would be darkened by an addition of gum arabic, and it was. It was hard to give up on gum arabic, it has such a great rheology in oil, but its affinity for water makes darkening very difficult to avoid. In contrast, the column of samples on the right was made with a methyl cellulose tempera, and these are the lightest on the panel. A few surprises here, I've found that some of the leaded oils I gave up on years ago as too yellowing have aged to the point where they yellow much less: lower left corner. Also, there are some resin additions here that yellowed more than anticipated, and some that also yellowed less. So it's interesting to revisit these. It takes a moment to decipher it; remember what a given set of tests was about, but then it's fun to explore the logic of it. One thing I want to return to in the weeks to come is the addition of a small amount of starch gel to the current fused damar medium. Starch creates a look and rheology I really like and definitely contributes to the work remaining brighter over time. But the timing of all of this has been such that starch and fused damar have never intersected. So, that might be interesting as a way to give the later layers of the new approach a little more textural oomph.



february 24

      Week of the full moon, some snow but more rain, we were on the outer edge of a very large storm that came across the southern states this week. Got a little bit of work done, and finished the final version of the book, finally. An interesting example of the last few feet to the summit being the hardest just for the heck of it. Oh, he's getting close again? Plague of locusts. Otherwise, it still feels like I'm supposed to be patient and let everything continue to slowly dissolve. On the one hand, this process is reasonably merciful: if you're slated to dissolve, it might be best to do it bit by bit, so it doesn't get too intense at any stage. Okay, I'm still here, I'm just not who I recently was. And I do appreciate the way things have become more spacious, less reactive, bit by bit. Time itself has definitely changed. But, after almost a year of this, I would really like it to come to some kind of conclusion. Yet there's no point in struggling with this, saying, that's enough of this evolving stuff, it's time to paint again. It began last March, so maybe it will conclude this March. The dream I recorded on December 30 just seemed to say I'd be going straight up all winter long, and this has been true. Getting sick felt like it was more about jettisoning old stuff than anything else: no more caffeine now for two weeks. I'd have to also say that being stopped so long ended up generating a different painting system that I like, which only needs to be explored further by being plugged in more often. So, it's like a new landscape has been set in place to explore. On the other hand, it's clear that the personal aspect of this process, slowly changing from a cube back into a sphere, could go on indefinitely. It seems to come down to trusting that the process has a purpose. I got used to this with painting, but who knew it was going to get so personal!


      The co-op got some Japanese sweet potatoes, these are great now and then. I do the slices in a large iron skillet on low with just a little oil or ghee. Very nice with half an avocado.


      On Wednesday afternoon I got back from my walk and Lily was up in the porch roof next door. She doesn't usually meow, but she was meowing away like the classic stranded cat. She had climbed the giant hydrangea, and hopped off onto the roof, but didn't want to take the hydrangea back down. It wasn't that big a deal in terms of things I've seen her do physically, but she ignored my suggestion that she just go down the way she came up. The neighbors could have let her in on the roof by a window, but they were out. I got a ladder, and was able to get up onto the porch to where she was and say hello, which was appreciated. But I didn't know what to do then, it was a little precarious to start wrestling with her and she didn't want to come to the edge of the roof where I was. She had limits, and sharply defined limits at that. So I was on my way to get the cat carrier, with the idea of getting her in there first, when another neighbor showed up, someone who has had cats all their life, and knows Lily. She said you have to grab them by the scruff of the neck, and they go limp, it's how they get carried around when they're kittens. She offered to demonstrate, and I said sure. So she went up on the ladder, I followed, and she handed a limp Lily down to me. Simple. Lily then scampered off, running full speed down the sidewalk as a way of re-establishing her magnificent dignity. Photo of the hydrangea and the roof, there was no snow that afternoon but you can see how the hydrangea provided access.


      Got another proof of the cover, it was better but still looked noticeably dull. So, amped up the colours once more, a little more this time, and fiddled with font size and placement. It looks a little zippy to me but that's probably the right way for it to look at this stage. The green especially has tended to drop down, blend more. This process could easily go on for another month but I decided to just go ahead and print it. New books arrive on March 8.


      The most recent start, an image I've done several versions of, but wanted to begin with more precision and detail. This is layer four, the first one with oil paint, no tempera involved. I used some of the lead white made with leaded oil, see January 27, this has thickened but was still very nice to work with. This image was around 4 pm on December 7 in Vermont, a very still, hushed quality overall, it was just beginning to get darker. These have tended to go towards a blue-purple atmosphere, wanted to hold this one in a more neutral place as long as possible to see what would happen. I was wondering how this tempera-first technique would develop, and it feels like, after a certain point, there's been enough carefulness, and it's time to complete it. So, the next layer will probably move it more towards the airier feeling of the version below, from a few years ago, but have a greater sense of detail beneath it. This one is about 9.5x15.75 inches, oil over tempera, on gessoed canvas over panel.



february 17

Well, I'm not sick anymore but I'm not really better yet either. But I'll take it! Nothing like illness to get things back to basics in a hurry. I haven't been sick in a while, but this is the classic time for me. There's a sense of a new beginning at my birthday, but really, energetically, the year is still ending: the new year begins on March 21, not January 1. So, a no-heroics week of putting things back together slowly, some in-progress photos below from last week. I didn't have enough patience or chromatic resourcefulness to work this way before, but they're getting more interesting to me as they proceed. Less forcing, more allowing.


Got the next proof of the cover back, it wasn't bad but needed some definite tweaking. Still in progress here, but easier with a model now of how their printer alters the colour: the green is too bright, but it won't be. Need to recheck the centering and fiddle with the horizontal spacing on the front more. One more proof of this and hopefully it can be printed.


Just slightly saturated layer on this one, layer four I think, it got a little wet and I added chalk to the background, higher chalk concentration areas dried a little lighter.


Warmer than in life, I guess this is how I want to continue with it. Just a little more detail and contrast this time, sort of feeling how this one wants to be different than the first one.


Lily took really good care of me this week, when I was sick she stayed right on the bed the whole time. She was very happy when I started playing with her again, this meant things were returning to normal.

february 3

      An arctic outbreak this week all over the east, not that cold really here, but sudden. A little snow, then some bright sun. When I first lived in Vermont in the 80s and 90s, the winter weather was really consistent, and there was always an arctic outbreak in February. Minus 20 at night, barely above zero during the day, absolutely still, and brilliantly sunny, the snow sparkling like diamonds. A very beautiful time, especially when I lived more in the country. Last week of the moon, new moon here tomorrow. Continued on finishing up the book, lots of small changes to the text, and lots of different variations on a simple cover idea. Birthday this week, for me this is mostly about feeling what comes in, and it felt sort of cautiously optimistic. Between the new year, a birthday, a new moon, and finishing up the book, it would be logical to have painting recur in the week to come. But, we'll see what wants to happen, the plug was pulled for a reason. My sense of what the process is about has certainly changed through having it disappear.


      Well, made a lot of covers for the book this week. Most of them were various shades of celadon green, but then I went back to blue. The blue is on the light side because the blue in the first proof darkened the most of all the colours. The lighter text colour was more orange at first but this seemed too obvious. I don't do that much in flat plane colour so this was a learning experience. Reviewed them at the end of the week and ended up liking the overall feeling of the one pictured here. Still need to tweak some positioning, especially on the back, but in general it feels good. Thought about various different graphic elements, but wanted to avoid anything too specifically cosmic-geometric or triadic or even cute. It is interesting to obsess about getting something truly right but come to the conclusion that, beyond a certain point, it just doesn't matter that much. You can go halfway to the wall forever, but to what end if the process ceases to be natural? It's sort of like saying kangaroo over and over, both the word and the process become meaningless. Perhaps this is simply the mortal definition of completion: Daedelus, not Icarus. So, I'll tweak this then send it out for another physical proof, I think it's at the place where adjustments based on that proof will be enough. I just need a digital proof of the text. Yet, this is much easier to obsess over endlessly, of course! But in spite of getting another PDF together this week after numerous incremental changes, there are a few places where I tried to be too scholarly and omniscient, an awkward combination, and these really need to be reined in. The information from conservation and technical art history is always interesting, but it's also a landscape that's constantly changing, and, in some ways, relatively abstract. What I actually learned is most important to the book, and this came from what I made, not what I read.


      Roland sent me some interesting information about white lead, a reconstruction of ways white lead was made in medieval Persia, the recent use of photoluminescence to identify many factors in historic white lead that have before been impossible to determine, it just goes on and on. Pictured here, the molecular synopsis of what happened to the white lead in a Rembrandt that was exposed to sulphur dioxide from atmospheric pollution, causing a layer of lead sulphate to form on the surface. An interesting note is that the modern process of making lead carbonate begins with lead acetate, not the metal itself, and makes a much simpler end product chemically than the older stack process. This is not alkaline -- "basic" lead carbonate -- but neutral, and may in fact be more stable over time. I thought a lot about ways to transform modern pigment this week but, again, its stability may limit what can happen here chemically. Making the paint with a leaded oil may be the most effective way, see photo of this from last week.


      The thing about Lily is that she has to be in the mood to play, but then play is imperative. I got this goofy simple toy from the co-op a while ago, just some kraft paper twine attached to a springy length of wire. The idea was to attach it somewhere so your cat could entertain themselves with it. But even though she liked that it sprung back and bounced around, it was too much, her interest in it was intermittent and short. Then I learned how to make it behave more like a large, erratic bug. This is comical, less predictable, and has been a bigger hit. She is also back to being more of her old acrobatic self since the change in diet after the UT issue: no more dry food, just a grain-free wet food that she likes, and is also lowering her weight, albeit slowly for now. She couldn't go outside this week during the cold, and was a little antsy sometimes. At one point she nipped my wrist to get my attention from the computer and I had to explain that the usual paw was enough! It's not always easy to stop and play with her on schedule, but if I do, this takes care of it and is fun for me too. I made her a big box with an hole to hide in, and at some point she zips in there, then swats wildly at my fingertips as they come into view around the entrance. She's got the dark wild mighty huntress eyes going inside the box, and her paw makes these resounding thuds on the cardboard box. It's very funny, and she's very careful not to shred me. Not quite in character, but it makes the game go on longer.

january 27

      Third week of the moon, I felt kind of wiped out after the eclipse on Sunday, or maybe wiped clean is more accurate. The tail end of the personal year, birthday in the week to come, am looking forward to what has seemed just beyond the horizon for some time now to arrive. Have no idea what it is, but it's there. Had a few quiet days before the proof of the book arrived, one sort of holistic thing that has occurred to me lately is that, just as there are all kinds of particles doing all kinds of jobs quite well in my body that I'm not aware of, and that these particles may well have all kinds of personalities and stories of their own, I'm also a particle doing my own particular job within a much larger being. Thoughts like these are a helpful antidote to the way consensus culture tries to lock human consciousness into its sad little materialist cell. Then the proof of the book arrived, and I started working on the next phase of that project, details below. There was also a lot of correspondence with my patient friend Roland this week about the recent Rembrandt and plumbonacrite situation, or flap, technical art history as journalistic bling, that I've also detailed below.


      As a kid I always loved rocks, and I got more involved with their metaphysical properties in earnest last year as I began to feel that it might be wise in a large city to make more of an effort to neutralize environmental negativity. There was absolute reams of information on this online, and acting on it it seemed to work out well. Always hard to tell without more sophisticated apparatus, but I felt better, which I consider enough. Then, because I've always been bugged by nonsense placeholder dreams, I began to get rocks designed to influence dreams in positive ways. Since, from the contemporary metaphysical perspective, it is a tossup which phase of human life is actually "real," and which is an "illusion," I thought a more conscious relationship with that half of the coin might be helpful. Now, before you roll those great big Calvin eyes, try living without sleep. After the space beneath my pillow began to look like a rock shop, I decided to call a halt to this, and began adjusting the rock recipe itself. I ended up liking calmer rocks, even though the dreams generated by jazzy, energetic rocks had been fun for a while. Anyway, there was one rock that kept calling my name, blue calcite, and since it was relatively inexpensive, and my rocks are mostly green, I decided to get some of it. There are all kinds of things attributed to it online, but, mundanely, it is proving to be an interesting combination of calming and stabilizing. I mention this process because of the complexity of doing things by intuition. Is this a "real" intuition, or an "illusory" intuition? Will this help, or does my inner ten year old just want more rocks? It seems like waiting a while helps differentiate between the two.


      Got the first proof of the book this week, it was delivered to the wrong house but I knew where to look. It is a little weird stealing your own package off of someone else's porch, but it was pouring rain and I got away with it. Something I learned long ago at Andover: don't get caught. The text was pretty good, no misprints, always a great relief. Some of the headings needed to be adjusted, and there was one instance where I'd changed the style of a heading, the smallest one, several times, but the program hadn't adjusted this globally. Ah, Word! The program, like the culture that generated it, is too complex to bother with getting the simple things right. But don't worry, there will be no consequences! Oh, wait, there are consequences? You mean, we're living them? Right now?!? Then there were a few small things I'd missed, where a heading reverted to the base style in the PDF. Interesting how much easier it is to see this stuff on the physical page. So, the text is not in bad shape. Especially compared to the cover, which I had to declare a disaster zone. Too much colour that changed in too many different ways in chroma and value to have a prayer of figuring it out expeditiously. The bindery does have a neat solution for this, it involves dropping the code of their colour printer into Photoshop. But I don't need the real Photoshop, especially since it involves a subscription program that is hard to get out of. Another software giant that is locally beloved. But don't worry you guys, greed has no consequences! So, I went back to the simpler and more personal cover approach, which I like better. Suddenly there were a lot of new ideas, but hopefully this will sort itself out naturally over the next few days.


      Okay, gird your loins! If you have been following technical art history for a while, you may remember when they first found starch in Rembrandt's paint, and peoolle started putting flour in their contemporary paint, thinking that this would give them Rembrandt's paint. Okay, latest version of this sympathetic craziness; there are some articles out on the web now saying that the secret of Rembrandt's impasto has been discovered and that it is plumbonacrite. So, go out and get some plumbonacrite and become Rembrandt in a day! These of course are not scientific articles, they are oversimplifications just looking to get readership, and Rembrandt is now star material. Keeping up with the Van Rijns, tonight at 9, 8 central. And of course, plumbonacrite, as such, is a rare mineral, not that easy to get. But it is also a constituent of lead white pigment, and here the actual story begins. The actual research itself was headed by Victor Gonzalez, and found plumbonacrite in excess of 20 percent in Rembrandt's impasto white, whereas there was no plumbonacrite in the white used for smooth passages. Plumbonacrite is one of the minor lead species in the material we call basic lead carbonate. It is generated early on in the reaction, see chart below, but is then largely transformed back into hydrocerrusite. There has always been interest in plumbonacrite, because one of its forms has a plate-like crystal and a nacreous visual quality that is very appealing. A US patent was taken out on making it in the 1940s, and Grumbacher even marketed a lead white made with it in the 60s. But plumbonacrite made by the patented process was not different enough to make a difference, apparently. But the other form of plumbonacrite has been found in recent paint that does exhibit a nacreous quality. Gonzalez states that the large amount of plumbonacrite in the Rembrandt impasto white is the result of the medium having an alkaline quality: at about pH 10, the hydrocerrusite begins to reconvert into plumbonacrite. Water seems to also help this reaction: plumbonacrite can be generated from hydrocerrusite, litharge, or both, in the laboratory in alkaline water. And it was centuries before the paintings in question existed in a truly controlled environment. So, pursuing this route, the most likely candidate for alkalinity in the oil is litharge, i.e., a leaded oil. In this case the oil is not used specifically to make the paint dry faster, but because of the rheology it generates for the paint. See second photo below for what this paint looks like, made with an aged leaded oil and, of course, with modern lead carbonate.

       And this brings us to what I feel may be the central issue here. There are a few different compartments of science that work on the technology of older paintings. One is technical art history, another is conservation science, and the third is hard science. Now, hard science is the last one to this party, and may well have arrived because articles about well-known older painters generate funding and press. The Gonzalez research I would classify as hard science, it is published in a journal about corrosion, this is all about atoms and molecules. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this, but one thing about hard science is that it is quite compartmentalized. It does not tend to recognize the existence of any other forms of science, this makes hard science uncomfortable. Now, if the situation is just about atoms and molecules, that is fine. But the problem with the hard science approach to how this occurred -- the white lead is modified in situ over the centuries by the alkaline medium -- is that there are several factors related to older practice established by technical art history that are not taken into consideration.

       The first is that the "ideal" lab reaction and the reaction in stack process lead white made with 1) vinegar not acetic acid, 2) decaying horse manure not carbon dioxide, and 3) an impure version of the metal that was cast, not rolled, and has also been shown (great article in Trade in Artist's Materials on older lead) to be composed of different lead isotopes than modern lead, may produce products with very different proportions of lead compound sub-species. The second factor not taken into account is that lead carbonate from the stack process always needs to be washed to become whiter. There is a paper by Stols-Witlox, Megens, and Carlyle called To Prepare White Excellent that documents almost three dozen different older methods of washing the pigment. The third factor is that the pigment was often dampened before mulling it to keep the toxic dust level down. This way, you lived longer. The fourth factor is that the Rembrandt Project has established that Rembrandt, at least at one point, made his own lead white. So, with the significant variables of the first factor we have the possibility that older lead carbonate made by the stack process could be a relatively different pigment from the beginning than the ideal modern lead carbonate of the laboratory. Factors two and three introduce water, which is key to the reformation of plumbonacrite, to the situation. How was the pigment washed? With something alkaline, like wood ash? Was it damp only a day or two, a month or two, or a year or two, before being made into paint? The oil situation in older painting shows that time itself is often the actual lost secret. Finally, making stack process white lead is a craft of its own, and who knows how Rembrandt chose to execute the process? Was the manure from horses fed on hay, or grass? You think I'm kidding, but this is one of the first things that an early correspondent mentioned to me: get manure from horses on pasture. Rembrandt modified everything else in the process to be uniquely his, why not the way the white pigment was made? It is the star of the later system.

       Anyway, I am not saying that the observation that the pigment's medium must have been alkaline is wrong, especially in light of what the white lead paint I made with an aged leaded oil looked like, but it is an atoms and molecules only solution. Information from the different scientific compartment of technical art history suggests that it may be incomplete as an explanation for the large amount of plumbonacrite that has been found in the paint. It is always a good idea to consider that what seems so much like it must be the solution now, will probably turn out to be only part of the solution later. And hopefully, this explanation will help people realize that adding plumbonactite -- which may, ahem, suddenly appear now at high prices in the predictable locations -- to their lead white is not going to generate Rembrandt's magical impasto white. (Thanks very much to my friend Roland, a omnivorous scientist who visits all departments of science, and who helped me understand the chemistry of this much better this week.)


      Micro-photograph by Roland of the early stage of the lead white process showing litharge being turned into plumbonacrite.


      Schematic diagram of the laboratory process.


      Paint made with a seven year old leaded oil and modern lead carbonate pigment. A very small amount of oil accepted a very large amount of pigment, making a relatively lean paint. This paint is quite dense, but also quite elastic and mobile. Comparatively, the paint made with aged linseed oil alone showed much more resistance, did not take as much pigment, and would not, probably, make the same level of detail with the same natural facility. Given the amount of pigment in contemporary lead white paint, I'd say, double the price to get this pigment level, but of course without the leaded oil the rheology would be much more dense or pastose, like the Old Holland "Cremnitz" white that Lucien Freud used. Will this paint age to a higher plumbonacrite level in three or four centuries? I have no idea, but I like the way it looks and have started some tests with it. There's also the idea of adding a little litharge directly to the paint, less than one percent, but this is proving noticeably warm in a test so far. There are also various ways to make plumbonacrite from either litharge or hydrocrrusite in relatively alkaline water, but so far it seems like doing that in useable amounts in this particular location is not the best idea.


      "Do I take photos of you in the bathtub?" Lily is pretty arboreal, when I put in this new pine shelf unit I knew the top of it would become a lilypad. Did more research into what new food Lily would really like this week, there are several brand choices in the simple protein department, but so far there are a couple clear winners, which are always good to have in numbers. The new diet is already making a difference in her weight and level of enthusiasm, she's attacking her virtual prey with renewed vigor. It's true I could often do with a little less enthusiasm at the crack of dawn, and I don't have to tell you hiding under the covers does not work, but there's only one Lily.

january 20

      Waxing moon, more seasonal weather, a little wintry at times, but rain today, not snow. Heading towards an eclipse around midnight Sunday night here, kind of a calm before the storm feeling right now. In older astrology eclipses were seen as just plain bad, but now the symbolism seems to be about uncovering things that are hidden, or ending things that have outlived their usefulness, so we'll see what this one brings. It feels like the demand for real culture is there, but as yet doesn't have an official place to stand. Hard to see how this changes gently or incrementally, since it has been held back for so long. Yet it needs to for the same reason. So it will be interesting to see what tack this eclipse takes in terms of the collective narrative, what emerges that has been hidden: plenty of choices out there. Last year I got a recurring sense of a false or hollow stability: society as the performer continuing to pretend that the tattered mask is impenetrable. At what point do we officially see beneath the surface? When does enough of the audience realize it has been tricked for that information to come to general awareness? Always interesting to see what these events bring up personally as well: I remind myself to expect the unexpected, but of course this is designed to come out of the blue. The sense of wading through oobleck continued this week, perhaps this is the collective getting ready to shed another layer of the illusory skin. I'm slowly getting used to going along with the tenor of the day when it's not exactly what I had it mind. Mostly worked this week on tweaking the book and its cover, always plenty to obsess about at the very end before saying enough already, more on the book below. Did get some work done that turned out decently, but after about a year of this on again off again hiatus stuff, it would be really great to wake up and have the focus on painting once again. Recently realized that this period began almost exactly when Saturn went into my fifth house early last Spring. The symbolism is logical, ongoing creative constraints, but if this is true, I've got almost another year of this to go. It doesn't quite feel that way, it feels more like there's about to be a part two to this that is different. Still, have to admit I learned a lot about all the things I'd been avoiding learning about in 2018, which led to a greater sense of balance. This didn't seem to be enough about doing to me until I realized that when something is balanced, it can spin on its axis much faster. So, it feels like my lesson will remain focused on maintaining the larger perspective that began in 2018. I keep thinking that I need to learn more about painting, an old habit, but the consistent suggestion is that I need to learn more about patience. I have a feeling this is because patience slows things down. Whether on the outside or the inside, this enables us to see more of what is really there.


      For a while I got concerned about Lily gaining weight with the new food that the vet prescribed for her UT issue, but then I began to wonder if it was just a form of operator error on the scale, because it didn't keep going. She is a little chunky now, and sleeping a lot with the dark and dank weather, but she's pretty frisky when she's up and about, involved in all kinds of Lily humor, part Xena, part Lucille Ball. And everything about the litter box is now fine. Then it occurred to me that the weight issue might be the new food itself, solving one issue but causing another. So I got involved one night in looking at the ratings of cat food. Holy Guacamole! Another massive universe of information. Helpful? Arbitrary? It turns out there is a lot of guessing in cat food, there are many ingredients that may or may not be good for them. The wet food I had been feeding her was average at best, the food the vet prescribed was far below average. Hmm. But, it did work to solve the UT issue. And I've noticed there's a lot of anti-vet sentiment online. But I decided to get her something that was highly rated, to see what that might be like in terms of her response, and also her weight. So, got her two choices that are similar to the current prescription food, turkey in gravy, but with far simpler ingredients. They had to be ordered online, and of course are not cheap, haha. But it felt like a good decision: there's only one Lily. When the student was ready, the teacher in fact arrived.


      Got everything wrapped up with the PDF for the book and uploaded the files to the printer. Made a lot of little changes to the text, there was one thing I wanted to emphasize in several places. These are tricky when there's an index because nothing can move from page to page, usually have to remove from a page in order to add. Oh yes, there's a craft to everything. Made the cover pretty light and bright because the value structure always seems to drop more than a bit in the process. I'm sort of excited that the book is done, it began in 2008, really seems like a milestone. But working on it sure has been great therapy over the last decade. No matter what was going on in the world or my life, I could make the book better. In the beginning this often meant trying to see how many noteworthy words I could get into a single sentence, but in the end it became about just explaining things clearly. There is something beautiful about a sentence that knows where it is going, and just goes there. In the beginning there were some intermittent crabby observations in the book, usually about the excesses of modernism in the 20th century, or the relatively self-serving version of science used by the coatings industry to cover its tracks. But, bit by bit, I learned to accentuate the positive: this becomes a kind of figure-ground exercise in which the negative is defined, but without even being acknowledged. Ah, negativity, our constant nimble shadow here on planet Earth, caveats at every turn, think how much we learn from it! A proof will arrive in the next week or so, I'll be surprised if anything goes awry but it's a new set of machines, so you never know. Once the proof is right, the books usually take a few weeks, so I'm thinking before the end of February. I haven't ever promoted the book to the extent that it's now possible -- that is, for free -- on the internet, but will probably start to do that in February. This is a little tricky. The book has a consistent perennialist subtext that explains reality, and therefore realism, as a cosmic metaphor involved in the interaction of various polarities or sets of opposites. This is related to the medieval concept of signatures, the physical world as metaphysical manifestation, and to everyone from Zoroaster to Pythagoras. I've really enjoyed developing this as a frame of reference, since it takes the book into the realm of philosophy, and why wouldn't you want to end up there? This of course became taboo territory in the 20th century textbooks about painting. Well, those written in America anyway. The scientists I've worked with are all pretty spiritual people in an understated way, have known that "the truth" isn't static, but always changes as the frame of reference always expands. I look forward to the day when science and spirituality can coexist peacefully in the collective consciousness. But for now, it may be best to simply call the book an innovative system for painters interested in working more closely with their materials.


      Got a third layer on the recent lilacs start, this one used paint with just a little bit of a saturating fused damar and beeswax medium. So, darker darks, and not quite as bright as the very lean first layers using lamp oil and chalk, but still far from my older level of saturation. Also very thin paint each time so far, this panel was relatively plane but it still has some linen texture left. Like where this is for this point, the question is whether to continue it in this relatively gentle, incremental way, or use a more rococo medium to finish it. I guess the best thing is to do what wants to happen, at this point I don't feel that this will stall if I keep going slowly. About 12x15 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.

january 13

      Waxing moon, colder and more sunny week. This moon seems to be dredging in my Marianas trench, every day. This is intense in its own murky way since I have no idea what is coming up next. Mundanely, got through an absurd number of crazy occurrences in finishing the PDF for the book, including Word spontaneously uninstalling itself, but everything just led to the next step: it turned out that reinstalling it was much better than having it fix itself in terms of increasing its stability. So, I finally have a 586 page PDF without errors. I girded my loins and went to the CreateSpace site to begin the next step, but, lo and behold, it had been replaced by an Amazon site, Kindle Publishing, I think it was called. Experiencing even one page of this site was so much like being taken aboard the Borg ship -- especially the resistance is futile part -- that I decided not to go further: resistance seemed imperative. A little frustrating at first, but I sort of had a feeling that it wasn't going to work out. In retrospect it seems like I wanted to generate a greater sense of financial security through this move. But, realistically, the book is not as good a tool for that as the paintings. So, hopefully the work will come back into focus in the weeks to come now that the book is all but over. Got a quote from a bindery in Minnesota that I like, and have another one coming from one in Michigan. Both of these binderies feature some decent options in terms of heavier paper and the one in Minnesota has lots of creative cover options as well. I love the idea of a simple cover made with good paper but it feels like this approach would be too fragile for a book designed to be used and used some more. Still, there are options, and I'm dealing with human beings. Freight from the Midwest will be higher than from New England, but their prices are lower than the old bindery, and with the old bindery, there was an awful lot of Murphy's Law over the years. So, we'll see. I got pretty wound up this past week but there's no huge hurry: the big build-up only produces the big letdown. Practically, the next step is another try at making a simple cover that feels right, then getting a proof. I know I get kind of worked up trying to turn the cover into an immortal work of art, but also know it doesn't matter that much. An uneasy balance there between the person who cares too much and the person who sees that none of it matters. But, since I've got a little extra time, it seems like it might be worth exploring one more time.


      Third layer on this one, oil with a little bit of a looser fused damar putty medium added. More to go, but I like where this is headed so far. 10x13 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.


       Snow showers early this morning.



january 6

      Last week of the moon, new moon and an eclipse last night. Mostly overcast and rainy week, then a dense and sluggish quality for the last few days of the moon, like wading through oobleck. Then last night I got energized when the new moon arrived and was still rearranging the studio at midnight, Lily was fascinated. She is feeling much better but likes her new food so much that, when we returned to the vet for a follow-up, it turned out she had gained almost half a pound. Urgh. This is sort of complicated, I play with her a lot but she's really insistent about eating. I've been able to reduce the dry food, but can't get the volume of the new wet food even close to where the vet suggested. What to do for this amazing, strong-willed, but increasingly Rubenesque kitty? I'm asking, hopefully will receive an answer soon. Absolutely not a creative time, nada, mostly worked on getting the PDF for the book right and on some new cover ideas. Turning the document into a PDF is fun in a way, because I know I'm almost done, and the small things become more obvious because they're all that's left. But the process is full of surprises. These always have to do with very small formatting inconsistencies causing the pages to jump around, but this time they were even smaller. So, figuring out what was causing the changes took a few days. Then there was a spate of crashes when making the PDF itself. Oy. I can't believe a program as mature as Word is still as finicky, buggy, and crash-prone. It does always recover the file, I have to give it that. But maybe it would be a good idea to be able to turn off all the techno-bling in the interest of stability. How crazy is it to just want the program to work? This week I made the crucial error of thinking that installing an update would increase stability, instead it created a situation where every page was one line shorter, meaning the file increased from 584 to 607 pages, negating in a moment the last two weeks of work on the index. So, that was a little challenging. But instead of trying to do anything in the file I reinstalled the whole program, and that fixed it. Whew. There are still a few persistent places where errors occur, but the PDF is very close to exactly the same as the document now. Yes, the process is a little maniacal, but this is both the human experience and hopefully the end of the line. I'm a little ahead of schedule, but it would be really nice to return to painting itself for a while with the waxing moon. We'll see, the energy sure changed in a hurry last night.


      The cover traditions with books about painting technique are either to throw a reproduction of an older painting on the cover, or a gritty, even messy, photo of the materials. I always wanted to find an idea for the cover of Living Craft that would get at the content in a simpler or more visual way, and made a lot of cover tests in 2018. Since the book is not like the other books about painting, maybe the cover should be different as well. This is one I liked, meaning I guess that it felt like me. Ot maybe a part of me I'd like to do more with, ahem. But I also ended up feeling it didn't seem enough like a book about painting, or a book with a lot of technical information in it.


      Moving in the other way, I thought I'd try a materials photo, but a more fine art one. This one had an austerity I liked, but felt too serious.


      This is one I made this week, featuring as much colour and information as possible. Maybe too much, I tried to add "fifteen years of research" and "for experienced painters", but maybe less is more. It's just strange to think of this book being on Amazon. I want to protect it from people who will not get it and therefore feel free to review it badly. Though I've noticed that dismissive type of review tends to create positive reviews in response. Anyway, parental anxiety. I do like the lighter colour scheme compared to the current cover, I had wanted it to say the tetrachromatikon, but it always ended up saying Caravaggio, which is just too much drama for me. Anyway, this week's version feels a little busy as a whole but it's a busy book, and the sections are okay on their own, although the rear seems to need smaller photos or smaller text within them. It feels like this tells a user-friendly, accurate, though not particularly deep, story, and could be tweaked further. But I might give the concept of a simpler, more heart-centered cover one more try. Except it also has to have precision. And I'm afraid it's intrinsically too pointy headed and literary. So, maybe this one succeeds more than I think it does. It's always a process. And this one will look different after a rest of a few days.

december 30

      Third week of the moon, still mostly milder. A surprising week of no large-scale challenges, perhaps 2018 has finally run out. Lily's UT issue is getting better, her clumps are nice and big now in the litter box, and she wants to wack away at me with the usual vigor in the evening. There's a series of games she like to play, it's very fun, I always end up laughing. Which is always good. I'm not unhappy to see the last of 2018, it was quietly but relentlessly challenging. The thing I like to do most disappeared for weeks, even months, at a time. And, in it's stead, I got to deal with the accumulated subconscious detritus of the last fifty years being triggered over and over again. I did learn a lot from this process about letting go, and staying in balance under duress, but it's also clear that there's way more to learn. With painting, I'm essentially about to start over, something that never would have happened if being so stopped hadn't generated more perspective about the process. I'd love to say that I'm grateful for it all, and on a given day I might be. But recently I've also just felt jumpy, like all I'm doing is waiting for the next challenging event to come barreling around the corner. On the one hand, I'm sure this is all for a reason -- evolve or die comes to mind -- but I'm also beginning to crack at the seams a little bit. Had a dream earlier this week that seemed to try to explain what's going on. In it, I was driving in a snowstorm, something I had to do relatively often in Vermont, so this part was familiar, and very real. But I had to go fast for some reason, there was some kind of hurry, which meant I had to pass other cars often. At first this was pretty scary, but I realized I had more traction than I thought, in fact I was glued to the road, so it just happened. Then I got to a place where there were no more cars, and the road started going up a big hill, straight up. Usually, a road with this kind of grade has switchbacks, but this one just went up and up, and so did I in the car: it was not at all a problem. The climb went on and on until suddenly it leveled out at the top. There was a little old service station and general store there, a nice touch, and I asked the guy there, complete with the dark green chino outfit, which way to turn. He told me, and I told him what a beautiful road it had been to go up, and he nodded, smiling, like he had often heard that before. So, pretty straightforward, and reassuring in a way. Though I'm not sure I buy the idea that this is suddenly going to get direct and simple.


      There's an herb called gotu-kola which has various uses in Ayurvedic medicine and been used as a meditation aid for a long time, in India it's called Brahmi. It's often paired with another herb with similar effect on the brain called Bacopa. Gotu-kola is widely available now, and Bacopa is becoming so. Over the years I've used both of them off and on as a way to concentrate more on painting, and they work well for that as a caffeine alternative. For me caffeine seems to create enthusiasm, but at the expense of patience. There was a time when this worked for alla prima work, but the work needs a kind of spacious alertness now, which these herbs are good at encouraging.


      Every year I work on Living Craft, adding new things that have come up. Then I print it out, read it, and correct it page by page. At a certain point it has to be read again from the beginning. Mostly this is for more clarity and simplicity, but there are also sometimes statements that need to be made stronger or more nuanced. Or, there's something new I thought was important and inserted in six different places over the year: where does it really belong? Then there are places that have become overgrown because they're important to me, these need to be weeded out, maybe even redone from scratch. I like re-writing things, have learned how to say something in different ways, that a given sentence will only hold so much, and that almost all adverbs are pestilential. A good sentence has a wonderful solidity, or ring of truth. I really can't get enough of this, golly I wonder why. With luck it can even have a little poetry, a cosmic echo, or a small but unexpected word. Why should technical writing be, by definition, boring and uncreative? Once you get one good sentence in the paragraph, this is the cornerstone, it shows how to organize the rest. It's surprising how often a better way to say it is revealed by cutting excess words. But, on the other hand, only so much can be cut or it begins to sound oracular, or open to interpretation in many different ways. There's a lot of if-then in a book like this, like the branches of a tree. This is the most complex aspect to organize. When I answer email questions they're often framed in terms of true or false, but, as in life, what is going to work in a painting has a lot to do with what has gone before, and what is going to come after. So, the craft is not a set of rules, or commandments, it's a multi-dimensional balancing act. Anyway, this year I put in a lot of new material, moved some things around, and took a few things out that began to seem more extraneous over time. This meant a lot of mathematical editing: changing the section numbers and formula numbers in the table of contents, changing those numbers in the cross-references, and of course changing the page numbers in the table of contents as well. Only so much of this can happen at a given time before things begin to go awry. But all of that is now done, and I feel that this version of the book is significantly better at explaining some crucial things. Mostly this is about emulsion refining, linseed oil, fat over lean, and the various conservation issues that are coming up with 20th century materials. This week I began to work on the index, which I was sort of dreading. In theory the program generates the index, and I got a break in that it actually read an older concordance file instead of having to input each entry. So I got a lot of index quickly, but, of course, it's not that simple. Ha-ha, no. I missed some things that needed to be added, but it turned out the program missed instances of things as well. A word with an accent, for example, has to be searched by hand. So I've been doing both adding and checking this week. Why were there so few instance of d-Limonene? Because I'd also spelled it d-Lymonene. Then there was sand, as in silica, versus sand, as in something you do with sandpaper, versus sandarac, the resin. Endless minutiae. But I've learned more about this process, and more about thinking about how the index might be useful: a step forward compared to my former position, which was that it is a waste of time and paper. My larger concern is that people will use the index as a way to avoid reading the book, which, given how different the book is from the various 20th century reference manuals, has always seemed like a recipe for trouble. But another thing I've learned -- why yes, the hard way, how did you know? -- is that, while I have control over what words are on the page, this is utterly delusional, because I have no control over what words the reader reads, or how they interpret them. I can do the index for about two hours a day before a not so still or small voice calls a halt. It feels like I've got about a week to go now. Then I get to make a new cover for the book, which I'm excited about, I made a lot of cover ideas this year and one of them actually turned out to work better. Then I'm going to look into having the book printed by CreateSpace, and, as such, become available on Amazon. I say look into it because, while this approach would sell many more books each year, there may well be things about it that turn out not to be okay with me. Also, having experienced the wilds of writing for the Huffington Post years ago, and Facebook now and then in the last few years, I have no illusions about the amount of patience the contemporary painter brings to bear on information outside their frame of reference. It is often woefully small. So, I may end up printing it again myself. Part of me would like the numbers of books sold to matter, and increase, but it's more important that the book go to the people who are in a position to understand and use it. Which, truth be told, is not that many. Maybe I'm overreacting, there are lots of considered book reviews, at least, on Amazon. We'll see. Anyway, I hope to have edition thirteen available later in February or early in March. A surprising number of people have asked about a hardback, investigating that comes next.


      Second lean underpainting layer on the lilacs of two weeks ago. A little more definition and clarity. Much more to go but I like the system so far. This approach to the panel is also helpful, fine linen and a more absorbent ground. Have started making more of these for use in 2019: the new year. About 12x15 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.

december 23

      A really long week, wow. Winter continues mild, a few days of rain, now brilliantly sunny and above freezing. Week of the full moon, the moon was yesterday around noon here. The most intense one since August, a real evolve or die feeling in the air. The energy peaked the day before, on the solstice, ran around a great deal getting Lily's new food and some Ivar shelving at Ikea. Ikea is complex, I love the puzzle of the functional design executed with flair, but bypassed the giant showroom maze this time in the name of efficiency, was actually out and back in an hour and a half. Anyway, this upgrade has been building for a while, had to think about what goes where, but made some good changes to the space overall. But the week's major focus was that Lily ended up with a urinary tract issue. This turned out not to be dire, but has been sort of nerve-wracking overall. She is on the mend -- this means peeing a lot a few times, rather than a little a lot of times -- and she actually likes the new food, which is very clean in terms of its ingredients, and features a gravy, which gives her more water to dissolve the crystals in her urine. In my issue from last week with the camera, I wrote a simple appeal to Amazon after they denied my first attempt to get a refund on technical grounds, reiterating that I had paid for, but was never sent, a camera. But I also kept being frustrated and angry intermittently, the sort of challenge part of me would like to answer with a light saber. But slowly realized that, in this place and time, the only option that would make me feel better was to forgive SuperSaver for stealing my money, and Amazon for not caring because they don't have to. This felt like the way I could create closure with a form of energy that felt contracting and ugly. It took a while to actually feel it, but when I got to this place it was surprisingly empowering, gave me a great sense of spaciousness. In larger terms, someone needs to experience how unwise it is to steal, someone else needs to experience how to forgive: simple. So, that was interesting, felt like I'd solved the puzzle. Then, the next day, Lily's issue began, and I realized how small the loss of some money really was while I read endlessly online about UT issues in cats, tried to get her to drink more water -- fruitlessly, of course, since it hurt her to pee -- and waited for Monday morning to call the vet. That evening, I got an email from Amazon issuing me a refund.
      So, in spite of the full moon week, not much work happened in the course of all this. This time of year is traditionally hopeless anyway. All of this has also overshadowed Christmas, which occurred to me hearing wacky old Christmas songs on the radio on the way to the vet. I exchange little things with my brother's family, and I have fond memories of Christmas as a child, which happened in a house about a mile away from here, and that's a good kind of present for me at this point. I'm reading a very nice book now on the Five Element theory in traditional Tibetan Bon that seems to link it much more with both Hinduism and Taoism than I had realized, the author is a perennialist, I love it. Did get a start on working with Instagram, a project that has been slowly gathering momentum for a while. I feel very much at sixes and sevens in terms of the relevance of what I have to offer to any form of social media, it often feels like I have more in common with the past and the future than the present, and the whole idea of something like this having its own frantic subculture just seems, well, insane. Maybe I need more caffeine and less Five Element Theory. But this is something several friends have encouraged me to do for a while now, and I started learning how it works, which seems incredibly quirky, and going over the photos I have for a game plan. At worst it becomes a simple way to explain the book to more painters. I lost some photos in the transfer to the current computer, but still have eleven year's worth of them to choose from. It's been really enlightening to go through them in terms of seeing what works, and what doesn't, am about halfway done, there aren't that many that are appropriate in each year but they add up. This overview has been really helpful to my sense of the process, I don't feel there's a great new formula to follow, just a pattern to learn from. I mean, I felt the nascent system of starting really lean and only using the more rococo medium at the end could be a big step forward, but it's good to see this reinforced by examples from the work itself. The whole thing of producing lots of work in a given style, the studio as an aesthetic assembly line, is very tricky to me. In the museum world there's a tendency to act like anything by a famous painter is sacrosanct, but, sorry, this is simply not true, there is always a range. The museum here missed the boat big time on Bonnard and has purchased some earlier small, middle range ones at what have to be large prices at this point; even the Met doesn't have great ones compared to the Phillips Collection. But the more you study someone who is really good, the more you see them learning from what didn't work out as well as what did, and Bonnard was certainly involved in the labyrinthine incremental evolution of his process.


      Layer three on this one, standing in the light. The previous layer was done in a water-phase tempera grassa of egg yolk and oil paint. This paint had a nice look, but I felt it was a little rich, the surface felt soft after a week. So I ground it down lightly before beginning. The paint was sort of gummy, pilled instead of fragmented, anything with egg does take a long time to really cure, and it had a reasonable amount of egg in it. So, I think I'll drop egg from the list of things to use to underpaint, I love watercolour, glue, and methyl cellulose, that's enough to choose from. This layer used the lean lamp oil putty, which is very nice for this type of thing, and it feels like this one is ready for a layer with straight paint. I'm intrigued by the blue of the background, but in the past this type of colour has needed to be dropped down in saturation in the name of unity. I have a lower saturation version of this painting, the question is whether this version stays quite high or just a little bit higher. 10x13 inches, gessoed linen over panel.

december 16

      A little warmer, some sun but mostly overcast, then two days of rain. Waxing moon, lots of energy, but not a lot of focus, jumpy. When this moon began it felt distinctly adversarial somehow, like the concept of challenge, of expecting the unexpected, was about to be redefined. Which, in its own small way, has been the case.


      I've never had a great digital camera, they just seemed to get better and it seemed wisest to wait. But last year about this time I decided I need a new camera, and did a lot of research trying to figure out what to get. The problem is that cameras are not really designed to do what I want anymore, which is simply take the best possible picture of what is there, they are designed to do much more. So, in the end, I decided I wanted something with a larger sensor, and 24 megapixels, but that it could wait, the urge was more consumerist than real. I started taking photos of the work with the current camera in the RAW format, and this made things better. But a few weeks ago, as the holidaze arrived, I got bitten by the camera bug again, and did more research again into what was available. I ended up liking the Nikon D5300, because it had the larger sensor and the 24 mp but didn't have a lot of other stuff I wouldn't use. But this camera was no longer being made. Still, I thought there might be some around. But this camera is sort of popular for exactly the reason I like it, and B&H, the usual place I get this kind of thing, didn't have any. I decided to look on Amazon and there was a third party seller that had them. So, I bought one. When it came, though, it wasn't the camera, it was a battery charger. So, this week has sort of been involved with that. The return process takes some time, and the seller is not exactly acting like they did anything wrong. I still may get my money back on this, it is Amazon's decision. Anyway, I did my best not to get upset about it, but I did. There is something so filthy about being involved in something like this, it is hard to keep it in balance. Then I ended up working too hard to keep from being upset, and my back went out. I sort of thought this type of incident was over, but it went out just enough to keep me in bed for the last three days. So, I've been rereading one of my old favorite channeled books, a dialogue with the various beings who created the infrastructure of the universe: they start with the creator of the creator, and end up at the center of creation itself. This, as always, has been a big help. So, yet another spontaneous experience of imbalance. Am back to being reasonably balanced and not a major disaster regardless of what happens, but several aspects of this situation to ponder. It is interesting how the challenges keep on coming. Personal and unexpected. I knew this was a challenge when it happened, but the process still wore me down, wanted very much to fight in spite of myself, could not just accept that there was a process, and that, in larger terms, whatever wanted to happen would happen. It feels like I have spent a lot of time in past lives fighting, especially with blades. It's at the point where I don't want anything to do with that energy any longer, but the root of it still needs to be addressed somehow. On the surface this is pretty daunting, but it always seems like once the problem has been identified, it begins to be solved. I just know it can't be rejected, it has to be healed.


      I was sent some gum elemi a while ago by a friend who ended up with too much of it by accident. It's soft and very fragrant, sort of lemon meets fennel with just a little of something like frankincense in there. I wanted to get it into tubes because of the high volatile content, and was able to do that by putting the jar in a waterbath. In the varnish industry it is called a plasticizer. I haven't encountered it as part of older painting, which would make sense since it's from the Phillipines, but it was used in small amounts by the 19th century French academic painters to create fusion with tack, and also to counteract the brittleness of the strong drier they used, a combination of lead and manganese salts in solvent bogusly called Siccatif de Courtrai. I'd like to try elemi in something, although I think it will relax things, basically the opposite of what I like to see in a medium. But it arrived for a reason, so, we'll see where it wants to go.


      A tool: I get a huge boot out of this kind of thing, a cleaner way to transfer chalk from the bag to a jar.


      Wanted to try the tempera underpainting idea using egg instead of glue. It's always about completion, having a kind of inner table or chart of which combination does what. Decided to start out with a relatively lean and wet paint, added water to the pigments, then cut the egg with two parts water instead of one. Earth colours except for a warm and cold blue mix.


      As with the glue paint, all went well as long as there was no white involved, and the sense of quiet saturation to the pigment was quite lovely. Then the difference between the wet value and the dry value became overwhelming. This was using zinc white cut with two parts chalk, so it's not that powerful a white. But the system just dries very brightly if there's an opaque pigment involved. This paint is lovely, but working with it effectively would require a tremendous level of haptic organization.


      So, tried another layer the next day with the tempera grassa version: beginning with oil paint instead of pigment, and adding more egg yolk so it would remain water-soluble. I liked the feeling of this paint.


      Was able to clean it up using this paint but went a little too far into density with the quick-setting egg yolk, it just congealed too fast on the palette. To work this paint would have to be thinned further with water from the beginning and put in jar lids. So, not ideal but I learned a lot. This approach would work better if the first layer was just about taking the value down in several layers of translucent washes. Then, the tempera grassa layer would bring the values up again. The problem is often not with the technique itself, but with the method.


      After this, I tried started another version of the lilacs from 2011, see the 12-2 news below for the first painting. This is actually the third version, the second one suffered the death of a thousand layers. Kept the proportion the same, but enlarged it a little. The problem with this image is that the original painting departed significantly from the reference in the feeling of the flowers, and that worked better. So, kept that in mind in this beginning. Made a panel that was designed to have a pretty flat surface: fine linen, two coats of relatively thin and absorbent gesso over the size. Then, instead of the tempera beginning, returned to using a putty made with chalk, calcite, and lamp oil in the paint. This made for a relatively lean beginning that dried looking a lot more like a water-based paint than oil paint. It's not easy to get the balance of positive and negative colour in these with the current camera, but in life this has a nice quality. It was intriguing to realize that the ground and the underpaint could be fine tuned in another way, and that something new would happen as a result. I mean, this is always the idea, and is obvious in theory, but actually seeing it happen as a result of a specific set of decisions in response to the former set of decisions is always sort of amazing: a different feeling, how did it happen? Part of me would like to put a second layer of lean underpaint on it, but it might be wiser to just put denser paint on it next, with a long open time of a couple days, as the first one was done. About 12x15 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.

december 9

      More seasonal here, and back to the famous sun a little more. Last week of the moon, new moon was on the 7th. This one happened later at night here, and I really felt it, a very idealistic, freedom-seeking energy, it was lovely but also agitating, like it was rummaging through the closets, took a long time to get to sleep. So, for the first time in a while, I know exactly what to do. Well, not exactly exactly, ha-ha, but far more exactly than in a long time. The process wanted to explain some things to me this year on a couple different fronts, personal and technical. Personal has been about "Who am I really, what do I want from this?" and inevitably is involved in healing something, reclaiming something that somehow became damaged. Technical has been about doing more thin and lean layers first before committing to a denser medium. This makes sense now, but I needed to be slowed down enough to see it. It's sort of difficult to slow down and gauge what is being missed by going too fast if you feel you always need to catch up to where you think you should be. In spite of usually feeling that more could happen, I also always felt it had to be simple, that there was a simple way to do things that would still have enough elements in it to ensure growth. And, really slowly, not exactly with my full cooperation, this year in fact delivered me to a simpler place. It helped to feel there wasn't a choice anymore, that wherever this process wanted to go was the only destination available.


      Early on this year I realized that I wanted to be less reactive, and as that process slowly gathered steam I began to look at current events differently. I guess what I mean by current events is what officially becomes news, not what is actually happening. And I realized that something was happening that I really didn't understand, and the more I researched this and thought about it, the more complex it became. But, the internet is an interesting place. Because, lo and behold, you can find out a lot of things that, well, at least according to the main stream media, since they never report on them, you're not supposed to know about. Some of these items, of course, are open secrets, but there's so much of this stuff under the carpet, and everything also exists in its own compartment: I only learned about Project Paperclip this year, because it wasn't part of a compartment I intersected with until recently. Then there's the CIA's involvement promoting Abstract Expressionism in Europe during the Cold War, this also has been around for a while but I only found out about it last week. Anyway, the end of the year is the time for predictions, and I want to make two of them for 2019 based on patterns I came across repeatedly this year. Some surprising dots turned out to be connected. I won't going to go into the dots themselves, just where they end up. And Jupiter is in Sagittarius, so it's time for some big systemic corruption to end. Have you been waiting for this a long time too? Okay, the first prediction is that, at some point in the coming year, the Vatican will cease to exist. It may be quiet, it may not be, but, as a vastly manipulative socio-economic institution pretending to be a religion, it will be gone. The second is that, at some point in the coming year, Donald Trump is going to become everyone's hero. Mine, yours, everyone's. In this case, of course, it will not be quiet. And, being who he is, the general adulation may not last too long. But what happens will be seen as a pivotal event in American history.


      The co-op got some barley that's just been hulled, not pearled, this has more personality but needs to be cooked longer as well. Barley is the grain with the lowest glycemic index, so it's the one that gets metabolized most slowly. Made the French lentil stew with barley and some dried porcini mushrooms last night, a nice variation on this theme.


      Did another water-phase tempera experiment beginning with oil paint. Mixed 2 parts egg yolk into 1 part oil paint and added water to that. Pretty tough!


      Curl test to see how bound the paint is. I wasn't sure I'd like the way this worked but did a small test and liked how it painted and looked. Want to try it next, sort of like: first layer, way underbound egg tempera, next layer, more normal egg tempera, third layer, this type of paint, fourth layer, oil paint with a little egg in it, fifth layer, straight oil paint. But maybe the fifth layer would need to have a little extra oil in it.


      Ground this one back and tried the same type of medium I'd used on it before, but a little thinner, with soft brushes. This was fun to an extent, could definitely do more, but I ended up wishing I could start over with several layers of water-based paint. Which is good, since that's what I want to do. I don't care about putting lots of layers on to get what I want, but I want the colour and value structure to be more genuinely stable than I've been getting with a relatively fat system. About 9.25x12 inches, oil on gessoed linen over panel.


      Third layer on this small study, a lighter, more mobile medium with a little bit of chalk to give it more grab. Soft brushes, relatively thin paint, am still getting used to what this does but it feels natural. The next layer on this will be fun, a little more impasto, a little more richness to the medium, a little less colour. About 12.5x7.75 inches, made it a little longer.


      Layer five on this one, left out the egg and just used oil paint cut with a putty made from chalk, calcite, and a little lamp oil. Did use black, this creates access to a different type of gray structure, which seems logical for this. Am not sure about a few things in the foreground and the trees themselves need some major grace but like how this is progressing and of course really like how something matte and high key photographs, geez. Will keep adding a little more saturation and movement in each layer. About 9.5x15.75 inches.

december 2

      Quiet and sort of functional week, entering the holidaze, the final throes of 2018. There's usually kind of a lull between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, but it feels like something is also building. Hard to say, this year taught me just to do what wants to be done, and I had to leave the work behind for weeks at a time, heaven only knows why. But I feel more complete as a result, and this may have been the idea. With painting there has always been more, and it's been easy to get distracted, even hypnotized by that. But life too has the same potential, and I was asked to address this more fully in 2018. I mean, it's not like somebody with wings appeared at the foot of the bed one night and gave detailed directions, but I've learned to pay attention to the various hints more closely. It is always a still, small voice. This year I realized that it was possible to do more than experience and helplessly react; that, while I had to experience, more neutrality was possible. Now, I'm not exactly the Dalai Lama but it's not that hard to train your mind at least somewhat to stay positive. Oh, here it is, the same old negative thought pattern. Do we want this? No! This has led to more interest in staying positive since when something gets to me it feels infinitely more raw and disharmonious. But it also seems like everything and anything that can possibly get to me is coming out of the woodwork to say hello it's me, I've thought about us for a long, long time. This actually started when I came back to Philadelphia, and peaked in 2016-17, when an incredible number of challenging things occurred one after the other. Now, the things that are happening are more subtle, and I have a prayer of being aware of them while they're happening, but they still seem big because I want them gone for good so much. So, while this year has been frustrating with the work, it also brought a glimmer of daylight as far as a next step: no longer struggling with negativity, but just letting it go. In other words, making an ongoing, conscious effort, which, really, I never made before to any lasting extent. The latest type of challenge has been people writing to me about the materials without the least interest in a functional dialogue. Now, this isn't most people by any means! Over the years, it's generally been fun to explain things that someone finds puzzling, there have been a few definite success stories this year, and that always feels good. But recently a couple different people have written who, for different reasons, simply could not hear what I had to say. In both cases, again in different ways, the issue was "science." Not the version of science that is based on analyzing experience, but the version of science that gets used to promote the ego. The real scientists I've known are smart but humble and relatively cosmic people: they are embarrassed by the ego's jingoist science. But I bring this up because it seems like culturally, science gets appropriated and used in negative ways a lot. Anyway, I'm learning to recognize the signs of this, and, in the future, instead of making my points with ever increasing logic and clarity, which, surprise, never seems to help, just bow out gracefully and wish them the best. I do this anyway in the end, but have realized there could be less friction in the middle by just accepting that different languages were being spoken from the beginning.


      My friend Douglas the Japanese boatbuilder who lives in Vermont is back in Japan, touring Kyshu looking at cormorant fishing boats for a new project. He sent this photo of the van of an itinerant painter he met who specializes in erupting volcanoes. Douglas has lots of photos of beautiful, and apparently increasingly empty, rural Japan on his blog, along with his laconic, and often very funny, Yankee commentary.


      Someone sent me some PEG8 modified beeswax, this is used in cosmetics to make emulsions. It accepts water easily but is inelastic compared to the ancient emulsified wax I've been making with a little bit of liquid soap. It also accepts oil well, as in this photo, but, as my friend Roland predicted, is not in any hurry to dry. It might have a place in a water-based system, but maybe with something relatively elastic like methyl cellulose. It would behave like gouache, but have more inherent body.


      Revisited commercial burnt plate oil this week after a long vacation, I liked working with this years ago in a chalk putty, it melts more than stand oil but also darkens less over time. It dries slowly so the melting can be minimized by working the same paint a second day. Comparing the various viscosities, the lack of yellowing was especially the case with #7 from Graphic Chemical in Chicago, seen here after over a decade about half full. This is pretty close to non-yellowing, very surprising. It had solidified on top, but the oil underneath had slowly autoxidized and was very similar to triple boiled oil, dense but elastic. So, decided this was worth saving and managed to get it into a few tubes. The oils I ordered from Graphic seemed to get darker over time, this is only logical since they probably use the same kettle for all of them and quite possibly clean it never, since the colour is immaterial for printmaking, its designated use. But I may get another can, just to see. This is of course the issue with something like this, the process is out of my control unless I want to invest in a vacuum kettle. At the same time, when I heated an oil to 200C for 2 hours using a magnetic hotplate, it gave similar results without the melting issue. It would be good to do that again, have used most of it up, and also try 4 hours instead of two. But, though that process is slightly below the smoke point of a refined oil, it definitely requires ventilation, so will have to wait till it's warm enough to open a window or do it in the backyard.


      Image from 2011 made with a slow-drying BPO putty that allowed it to be worked for at least two, possibly three days.


      Also couldn't resist mixing the BPO#7 with some triple boiled oil: as time goes on, it's increasingly important to stay in touch with one's inner ten year old. And yes, it was interesting getting this into a tube. This type of oil adds thixotropy or boing to a medium even in very small amounts. So, saturating like stand oil, but otherwise opposite in its rheology.


      A few years ago I got a gallon of refined walnut oil from Jedwards that was sort of different. At first I wasn't sure if it was different good, or different bad. But it was from Italy, and over time has turned out to be different good. It polymerizes more quickly than any refined walnut oil I've used from America, has more body, or boing, when polymerized, and yellows less. So, it's better, it must be expensive! Surprise! It's not.


      Continued with the idea of making leaner underlayers this week using a putty with egg yolk and a little bit of walnut oil to keep it from setting too fast.


      Layer four on this study, made using the egg putty mixed with oil paint. I decided it would be a good idea to explore developing the underpainting more, since I rarely get what I want in the usual saturated layer I put over the underpainting, and I've decided that this is the culprit in the drying down I get in value and chroma. It's slight, wouldn't matter with earth colours and chiaroscuro, but want to see if it can be minimized it by working more with the underpaint. In larger terms, this illustrates that one must be aware -- wary, even, hard as that is -- of one's own enthusiasms, as these just might lead one somewhat astray. I felt that it would be okay to paint more richly overall if the oil were high quality, the paint itself were more stable, and I waited a long time between layers. And it's true that nothing has ever cracked. But I've wanted to learn how to make things remain brighter. It's not that the brightest colour is the issue, I want the atmosphere to remain the way I made it. I'm in good company here. The last time I was at the Met, it was clear that the most worked part of Aristotle was the underside of the hat: the most impastoed paint is there to get the colour and value to dry right. At least, that's my interpretation. So, returning to this snowy afternoon outside Vergennes in December 2000: beginning, and continuing, leaner, holding saturation in reserve. These have tended to get sort of purple, but the image was from the middle of the afternoon, so I wanted to try for a more neutral feeling in this one. This remains too literal for me, sort of agonizing from that perspective, but has a level of internal detail that is pretty complete. About 9.5x15.75 inches, a fun process so far.

november 25

      More seasonal weather, some hard freezes at night, but lots of rain last night and a little warmer today. With sun, this type of November isn't bad. Week of the full moon, lots of energy for this time of year, the work didn't do badly but I'm still retrenching, have to be patient with the next system coming together. This is typically the beginning of the Holidaze for me, a lay low period for the work that usually lasts until the week after the New Year. But it feels like this year is going to be different during this period as well, something new is coming on slowly. Mercury retrograde this week, this often manifests in forms of miscommunication, packages being delayed or misdelivered is typical. This week featured some subtle and wacky manifestations of this. I finally got it together to get some much needed food the day after Thanksgiving. After checking me out, the cashier at the co-op blithely announced that my total was 92 dollars. What!?! I know what I buy and I know how much I usually spend within a few dollars, and this was way high. A more experienced cashier would have caught this as well, but they go through a lot of cashiers at the co-op, they're kind of cannon fodder. And this one seemed to think it was my problem. Ah, to be young and callow again! There was a long line, so I asked for a receipt and moved on. The scanner had misread an item, and charged me 28.00 for organic coffee I hadn't gotten, easy to spot. So, there was another cashier between check outs, and they gave me a refund. Meanwhile the cashier who did check me out asked how to reset their machine, because it was misreading items. Then, the post office! Yesterday, I was taking books there, and the clerk said they couldn't accept one of them because the label didn't show I had paid for it. What?!? I felt that the implication was that I had somehow counterfeited the label, and pointed out that it came from the post office website. And to be honest, this is also someone who has been a stickler for details in the past that have been meaningless, the only one in four years I've had mild transactional issues with. Anyway, I stood my ground, but so did they. Tense, but polite. The upper corner of the label did look a little blank, but I didn't understand how that could have happened. They said they were open until two, and to come back with the label fixed. So I left. I still didn't understand it, and was at this point really fighting a rising complaint about the whole effing postal system. Which is not really that bad, but which is more stressful, occasionally bizarre, at this particular post office, the nearest one to me, than at any of the others around here. Anyway, strangely upsetting to do everything the right way and have it somehow come out wrong. When I got back home, the PDF for the label was fine, it had the complex barcode in the upper corner. But when I tried to print it again, the program wasn't reading that part of the label, the preview showed up with the same blank. Very strange! So I used another PDF program, one of several that printing the book has graciously brought into my life, and this one printed the label without issue. Then I went back to the post office, and told the clerk they were right, which went over well. Coming back home again, I thought about how the possibility that a PDF could be printed *selectively* was not in my frame of reference. So I guess the larger point is that these experiences, by throwing a monkey wrench into the works, quickly expand the frame of reference. Ready or not, expect the unexpected, get flexible. This is something Lily often illustrates, hiding somewhere and staging a mock attack when I come around the corner. But those are fun. It's interesting too that, with the first experience, though it worked out fine, I felt I should have stood up more. But, with the second experience, possibly as a result of the first one, I stood up a little too much. Ah, the post office!


      Lily has been spending more time inside as it gets colder. She's nine at this point, and last summer she wasn't that into the hotter days either, I used to let her out around 2 in the morning and get her around 8 or 9. She likes to play with me when she's around, wacking at one of the flock of virtual birds, or what I call fisticuffs, which means wacking at my hands. In terms of mano a mano, she's getting much better at not shredding me. Of course, this way the game goes on longer, but in general, she's become much gentler, wakes me up with a nose bump instead of a bite on the wrist. That I did not do well with. It's fun to see what interests her, the house has its own set of noises, but sometimes there's a new one and she goes on instant alert, totally still, her eyes and ears get really big. She can of course see way more in the dark than I can, and sometimes she zooms from window to window at night, tracking something out there. Sometimes at night I wake up and she's watching over me from the night table with her eyes huge in the dark, like a little ET. She threw up this morning, this is rare but tends to occur after I open a new can of food, she likes it best before it's been in the fridge and sometimes eats too quickly. I was about to walk right into it, but she scampered in and headed me off so I'd look down and see it. That was impressive, honorable. And she had managed to throw up on the floor as well, not on the rug. I mean, a centimeter from the rug, but not on the rug. But she always feels really embarrassed about throwing up, possibly a memory from her former domicile. Someone used to go after her with a broom as well: it's funny, she's fine with a broom inside, but outside, no. Anyway, I tried to make her feel better, but she just wanted to be alone for a little while. For me, yet another reminder of not being able to fix someone else. She always bounces back pretty quickly though. We played the swat you through the curtain game a little later. Life with a mighty huntress.


      The last time I had the book printed it came shrink-wrapped in sets of twelve in a box, they got through the UPS jungle of Philadelphia in great shape. But this last time, they shipped them two dozen per box, without much protection. I know, why. But do you really want life with my bindery stories? Anyway, this has meant that there are some books that are a little dented. They're of course perfect on the inside. And I don't think this even qualifies as shopworn, the cover just has a crease or a small bonk in one corner. So, if you know you're going to beat the book up in your studio anyway, a course of action I heartily endorse, here is an opportunity to get a book that has been tailor-made for this approach at a significant discount! These books are 20.00 plus postage, making media mail in the US 25.00, priority east US 30.00, priority west US 35.00, and overseas 50.00. If you'd like one you can e-mail me for instructions. Or, you can use the email address you get by clicking that link to go to PayPal and send me the funds there. If you do the PayPal route, remember to tell me where to send it! What's the book about? There's a page about it here, and you can download the Table of Contents and text selections here


      I'd always been intrigued by the Japanese tea called Gyokuro, or Jewel Dew. This tea is grown in the shade during the last few weeks before it's plucked. This gives it more theanine, the feel good component in tea, and gives it a distinct flavour the Japanese call umami. This word is usually translated as savoury. But to me savoury means something different than how this tea tastes, and, as with many things Japanese, there's also more to it. Umami is brothy and oceany, but without the closure of salt, with just a little bit of sweetness and bitterness. The key is that the flavour floats, is unresolved, an infinite horizon, a cosmic question mark. Anyway, this flavour is pretty intense in gyokuro, and when I made it the way you're supposed to, about a tablespoon of tea per cup, it was a little too much. But then I backed off to less tea, and it was more balanced. Exquisite, yes, but all the better Japanese green teas are exquisite, so I'm not sure this is a must have for me. I mean, is anything a must have? At this point it's more like an exploration. One plant, one planet, a world of variations.


      I started cooking in restaurants in the 70s. There was no internet, cookbooks were only just beginning to get into authentic regional ingredients, and a lot of these were unavailable. We used to try to make French lentil salad, not realizing that it was made with a French lentil because we'd never seen one, no one knew about it. So the lentils always fell apart. Kind of funny in retrospect. The same thing with Indian food, all kinds of spices were in the realer cookbooks that were unavailable. Recently I finally got some ajwain, wild celery seed, which is used in both Ayurvedic medicine and cuisine. This is a ligusticum, and is sort of a cross between a regular celery seed, thyme, and osha, the pungent Native American immune enhancer. A little bit in a dish ends up being surprisingly deep and sweet. So, here's a French lentil stew: onion, carrots, cabbage, potato, ajwain, and sage along with salt and pepper, a little xv olive oil on top at the end. There's a little mild red pepper too, this can be the Korean one, gochugaru, or the similar Aleppo pepper, or an unsmoked Spanish paprika. Sometimes I make this with rice, but the potatoes were better. It's also nice with torn whole wheat cappelletti, and with something green like Lacinato kale or flat leaf parsley. But, on the day after Thanksgiving, there was none of either at the co-op.


      Something my friend Roland sent, continuing excavations at Pompeii: Leda and the Swan. This is being called a fresco because it is on a wall, classic misdirection by informal nomenclature, it is definitely something else, looks a lot like tempera grassa, and does it have an overall gloss? There are paintings from Pompeii made with glue and emulsified beeswax, this is relatively detailed compared to those but may be that technique with a saturating layer of some kind on top. Hard to say, but an interesting puzzle.


      Continued to work with the relatively challenging glue paint this week. Had better luck with the glue diluted with 2 parts water, this was still fine for a panel, but got into trouble again trying to introduce white pigment in terms of the wet colour being too different from the dry colour. Two glue layers here, not exactly artistic but a pretty accurate map.


      Then made an emulsion paint for the next layer with a small amount of a glue and chalk mashed into oil paint. This was slightly more painterly to work with, but still dried matte. If the next layer is simply straight oil paint, this will be fatter still. So, this is exploring what can be done with a leaner beginning because I think this will make the final results more truly stable in terms of value and colour. I love the rich and painterly medium, but, especially in layers, they have tended to dry down somewhat over time. It's not bad, but I notice, and have concluded that this type of medium is probably best used at the end, over a lean but accurate beginning. This is what I learned from the 19th century French books by Vibert and Moreau-Gauthier. In another sense the option of a leaner beginning was always there. They're not exactly that artistic yet, a learning curve there, but, more importantly, I needed to be ready to hear it. This is about 9.5x15.75 inches. The next layer should be fun.


      I liked the glue emulsion tempera, and made another version of it to use as a first layer. This involved making a chalk putty with dilute glue, then using about four parts of this to one part Venetian red oil paint, mashing the oil paint in well with the side of a knife. This paint was still pretty lean, and was diluted further with the dilute glue water. Hard as nails, for glue gesso panels only.


      Made this small underpainting with soft brushes on glue gesso with the above paint. It was sort of like working with watercolour, a few seconds to move a wash around, more saturated and forgiving than glue alone. Still not exactly painterly but that might develop with this approach.


      For the next layer made a putty with chalk, calcite, and lamp oil, the ultra-refined kerosene solvent that dries very slowly.


      Mixed this into the paint at 1 part to 2-3 parts paint, added a little more lamp oil to start. This paint was really mobile, and pretty literal, but it also held well on the glue gesso as the solvent slowly evaporated. I was sort of annoyed by the literalness at first, as an approach it felt like going backwards, but it dried dead matte overnight and it feels a map this accurate might be useful for a more painterly next layer. This is on gessoed paper, I'll mount it on a panel first. Same place in Vermont as the snow image above, in early July instead of December. About 12x7.75 inches, it might want to be a little longer.

november 18

      Another week when last Sunday seems eons ago. More seasonal, a little snow but it melted, more of those drier lint, Indanthrone blue clouds of November. Waxing moon, seemed to suddenly know what to do again, so I did it. It was something new, and things got a little rocky in places, details below, but it was great to paint again.


      This is something I keep making so it must be good. It's one half cup of barley flour, 1 tablespoon of xv olive oil, 3 tablespoons of water, and a good pinch of salt. Mix into pliable dough and shape however. Sometimes I make four small rounds, this time I made the cosmic doughnut shape. Then it gets cooked in a cast iron skillet on low, with a cover. It's about ten minutes a side. Very plain and simple, kind of ancient tasting, the olive oil and the barley is a nice combination.


      Another simple one. This uses rapini, or broccoli rabe, which is more wild, bitter and turnipy than broccoli. First put the water on for the pasta. Then chop up a lot of broccoli rabe, it shrinka a lot when it's cooked. Then put some xv olive oil in the bowl you're going to eat from. Then chop up a two big cloves of garlic and mash them well into the olive oil with salt with a fork. Add some coarsely ground black pepper and some mild red pepper, like gochugaru or Aleppo, or a hot Spanish paprika, but not smoked, this takes over. When the pasta is half cooked, saute the broccoli rabe in a skillet on reasonable heat with a little xv olive oil. If it browns a little bit in places that's good. Add the pasta to the olive oil-garlic mix when it's done and mix, then add the greens and mix. You can then add other stuff, of course, like grated Romano for something Italian, or soy sauce and some chopped up dry roasted peanuts for something Asian, a little Vietnamese fish sauce is also very nice. Last night I tried a little nutritional yeast. But it's worth trying it plain too.


      So, this all started when someone sent me a link to The Adoration of the Shepherds by Mantegna on the Met website. Huge file, all kinds of wacky things going on in this mid-15th century tempera painting. Then I ended up with the Mantegna book from the Getty, a free PDF. This features their Mantegna, Adoration of the Magi, which is later, about 1500. This painting is worth looking at because it is one of the few distemper on canvas paintings that have survived. A mind-boggling technique. The Japanese also have a glue tradition, called nihonga, which my friend Allison Cooke has explored. Anyway, I've always loved glue as a size and for gesso, and I've lawys loved the look of water based paints: the first paint I ever tubed was a gouache-like methyl cellulose-emulsifed beeswax paint. But I've never done anything using glue as the medium, and thought it might be fun to explore what would happen. Of course, this gets into definitions. Like, what is "fun" really? How much "adventure" can be effectively added to fun, before it morphs into "chaos?" This process had a sort of bi-polar fun curve. It started out quite high, then plummeted, then rose once again. But I'm still here, so it must have been a success.


      The ratio of glue to water is important, I wanted to keep it somewhat high so that the paint would be bound. (Quite possibly an error, but anyway.) You can tell when the paint is bound because it peels in fine curls, rather than shattering. I diluted the glue size 1:1 with water, this was bound before mixing the paint with more water.


      This is a nice way to reheat cold glue. You want to keep the glue temperature low. If it gets up above 158F it begins to degrade, so even a waterbath can be too hot. I always get into trouble by putting it on low heat, then doing something else. Inevitably, I come back and it's at least close to too hot. This time I cubed the glue when it came out of the fridge, and it cooled itself it melted. It melts much faster. Another instance of there's a craft to everything.


      Okay, this is where I got innovative and also ran into trouble. The 1:1 glue paint set a little too fast because it was on a ceramic tile and the studio wasn't that warm. So, I thought maybe a little ewax in the glue would help: two ancient fine art materials. And it did, ewax really lowers the threshold of the set, and, after a few days, it seems to make the glue not set at all. So, I thought this was a good sign, but ewax also made the paint even brighter. So bright that it was not really possible to control it, the wet-dry value shift doubled and even chalk was too much as a white. It was sort of bizarre, but, a classic example of making too many changes to a system that I didn't really understand in the first place. Glue alone with Nicosia green earth on top, this is about half again as bright as in oil, then two different dilutions with ewax on the bottom.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Lily says hi.


      I made the ground with a little random texture using coarse marble dust. This is the first paint over the drawing, a warm raw sienna. Between the texture of the ground and the fast set of the paint, this was pretty unforgiving, but I felt that it would be possible to develop everything incrementally. This was an error. Next time I'll spend more time on this stage, refining things with one dark pigment, and one light one.


      I made three different palettes of paint, and this is how it looked after the first day. I really liked the look of the colour where it was layered, but the forms didn't have much development.


      The next day I used glue with a little ewax as the medium for the pigment, and went to a wooden palette for the paint. This was easier to work with because the paint didn't set nearly as fast. But I couldn't control the value at all, the paint dried way more brightly than it went on compared to plain glue as the medium. I knew a three year old once who, when something he did went wrong, used to love to say it was a "Zizaster!" And this was definitely a zizaster. Of course, the behavior of the materials is logical, and with experience, it could be comprehended. But it might be time to let the ewax addition aside, this is complicated enough without it.


      So decided to do a layer in oil to consolidate it. Used a little ewax in a lean putty medium to keep it consistent and undersaturated, but the look was still much deeper than the glue. This is still a little crunchy but I'm looking forward to the next layer, which is saying something. Maybe it would have been wiser to have made some medium experiments with dilution first, but having to put the paint through the specifics needed to make a painting is a better test. So, I learned a lot, yes, I did. I want to try another one, starting with a more dilute glue for the paint, this would allow greater control and detail. If it's still too difficult to finish, all kinds of things could then happen over that type of underpaint. Even a little egg yolk in the glue, for example, would give easier handling and a little more saturation. About 11x12 inches, oil over distemper on linen over panel.

november 11

      Waxing moon, mostly sunny but one really rainy day, sunny again now and seasonal. Had a good week but it was mostly about this year's ongoing process of rewiring. It seems like for a long time I was given an opportunity to learn about paint and the painting process, and that this morphed slowly into a metaphor for life. Now that process seems to have gone live, the work is on an internal, not an external easel. Which is fine, a logical development, but one that's not really possible to talk about. I mean, I've tried, but where do you begin? It's challenging some days, it's really fun on others, and in between it's kind of exhausting. But somehow it feels like progress. Some photos from around the neighborhood this week.



november 4

      One of those weeks where last Sunday seems like months ago. Some lovely warmer days, then a very strange one Friday that ended up being very rainy and windy late at night, with a tornado warning in the area. Yikes. Waning moon, new moon on Wednesday, would love it if this one brings the work back but have to admit it's been growing a lot by leaving it alone. I just see a lot more now, both of what's there and not there. This has been a strange development to consider. I mean, I would have said it grows by leaving it alone, but I've never had to deal with this level of hiatus before. I've come up with several ideas for where to re-enter, but until the impetus arrives again that's all they are, ideas. Kind of a roller coaster week internally, a few days where I felt part of an infinitely loving universe, a few days when I didn't. On the one hand, it's not easy when the basic sense of belonging departs, and on the other, it's complex to accept the demise of struggle when this is all you have ever known. This can turn into a double-whammy, they're always a joy. But I know it's all up to me at this point. In theory I accept everything as what needs to happen. It's of course easier to see the larger purpose of events later, but sometimes recently I've been able to shorten later into now. This week a big dog waited on a raised porch until I was right below it, then started barking a few feet from my head. This sort of sneak attack might well have provoked me pretty seriously a few years ago, but I was just momentarily frightened and let it go. A nice feeling of progress. At the same time, every now and then I end up complaining, it just sort of comes out. This happened yesterday afternoon, while I was doing the dishes. I basically asked, "What's going on here? This is going on and on, where does it lead?" and actually had the odd sense that it registered somewhere. Lo and behold, last night I had a very clear dream. In the dream, I was watching a large matrix of rectangular pieces being assembled into various patterns. They were sort of organic and Egyptian looking, made out of glowing sandstone, but also sort of like the note blocks in a music program sequencer. It was a form of music, and they had handmade drawings on them, indicating their sounds: a sine wave, a triangle wave, a square wave, etc. But there was one piece that was blank, it didn't have a notation. The dream zoomed into this piece and as I watched it began to generate a second layer beneath it that was a different colour. I realized that this piece had not been programmed with a specific sound, but was sort of a wildcard that was in the process of generating its own sound. So, this frame of reference makes what's going on a little easier to accept: something is happening, even if I am not that aware of it yet.


      My walk in the afternoon goes through the park now, this is near the house I grew up in and a place I used to go as a kid, so its sort of nurturing to return there, connecting to something I left behind for a long time.


      Walking through the neighborhood season by season, there's a lot of variation in what goes on with, and on, the sidewalk.


      The sort of photo I would have taken a long time ago, kind of fun to revisit this as well.

october 28

      Waning moon, a mostly sunny and more seasonal week. Got a few longer walks in featuring more nature, a large relatively wild park wends its way through the neighborhood, and there are lots of ways to get in and get out. Interesting contrast to leave the woods and have the traffic start again. Had an positive time this week repeating the affirmation, "I am infinitely present in an infinite present," this seemed to expand things consistently. Very quiet week in general, things just seem to want to settle further, accepted it. Read another Flora Thompson book, the last one she published, Still Glides the Stream. In this one she works with a more traditional format, a reminiscence that begins when a recently retired schoolteacher returns to the small village where she grew up just after the second world war. This picks up the theme of Lark Rise about the last generation of country before the 20th century, focused on two families that live near one another, and are related: the children's mothers are sisters. Though this one is about a village, not a hamlet, which makes a significant difference both economically, and in terms of the issues that can occur. The world she creates is lovely, though of course fragile, and often challenged, like anything lovely. It feels like it was also written for her country, which had been utterly worn out by the second world war. As a novel it is old-fashioned even for its period, but not sentimental. There is the given ethical tone of Jane Austen with just a sprinkling of Thompson's childhood buddy Mrs. Gaskell, more in arch, understated comedy than in circuitous flow of prose, Thompson is more about carving this world as deeply as possible in stone. It also reminded me of Millet, she's more interested in the truth of the rural situation than in curtsying to the gentry. Nature, as the fields, flowers, and weather, gets the most consistent poetry. Rhetorically, it promotes the combination of wisdom and innocence, the country code that unites the two families, a combination that runs through a lot of English fiction, though it is more blunt and rigid in rural life. By contrast Thompson the writer is gentler and more forgiving in this book. I wanted to see where the process had taken her after the three books that were more officially about her childhood, and am glad I did, but, well, this type of fiction is certainly not for everyone.


      As promised, Lily visited the front porch roof a few times this week, and had fun exploring it.


      Yes, it's come to this.


      But, it's come to this as well.

october 21

      Waxing moon, full moon this Wednesday. A little unsettled, not exactly a sunny week, but not rainy either, mild during the day and a few nights near freezing. Another week where nothing wanted to happen with painting, or even the book this week, had to rest a lot, which, lo and behold, finally, was fine. All part of the plan! Not my plan, have no idea where this is going, but that's okay. I mean, I'd like to get going with painting and the book again, but can also see how this type of time changes my conception of both who I am and what those projects are actually about. Things have always made sense in larger terms, and it seems sort of silly to bring the projects so far only to have them cease, so, I'm just letting them be fallow and have to admit that the changes this is generating are unexpected.

      This has also meant allowing time to expand into other areas. I had always been sort of resistant to the idea of repeating something endlessly, and, it seemed, mindlessly: an affirmation, a mantra. This may have something to do with the dancing and chanting Hare Krishna people I saw as a kid feeling strange: I was more comfortable with friends meeting. Recently, whenever I had tried it, it seemed like kind of a break from a thought process that went around in more predictable circles than I was willing to acknowledge. Learned this week that that type of repetition is a way to get out of the alpha state and quickly reprogram the subconscious mind, and thought it might be a good idea to try again. Had a great time with "I am infinitely compassionate and forgiving" while doing errands in the car, started laughing as somebody ran a fourway stop sign and it just kept going all the way home. It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, but a lot can happen in a hurry on the road, I try to do anything in a car between ten and two, and it was nearly three. Anyway, want to keep going with that, it works really well while taking a walk.

       I had an attack of completism related to the French academic technique of the later 19th century a few weeks before. I got some French texts online that were useful and ordered a few earlier 20th painting textbooks that were written in England, these came but didn't have anything to offer. While researching these, encountered a book -- well, three books, a trilogy -- called Lark Rise to Candleford, by Flora Thompson, which I knew I had to get. Most English fiction of the 19th century is written from a middle or upper middle class point of view, you could say Dickens is an exception but it's London, and not what he experienced. These books were actually written by someone who grew up in a tiny hamlet of farm labourer's cottages, they didn't have a store, a church, anything but each other, their gardens and the pig. The first book, Lark Rise, tells the story of the hamlet and its inhabitants from several different perspectives: the structure of it is both organic and cohesive. She grew up during a time when class distinctions were pretty rigid, and farm workers were paid barely enough to buy necessities. Her father was a stone mason, and they have a little more money, but not much. The picture she gives of the time and place is unflinching but also nuanced, she doesn't romanticize them, but explains what their life gave them as well as what they didn't have. Lark Rise came out in 1939 and was very popular in England during the war. This is when she wrote the second two books, about what happened to her after she left Lark Rise at the great age of fourteen -- many girls from the hamlet "went into service" at eleven -- and moved to the nearest tiny town to work for an old friend of her mother's who was the postmistress there. These books are also good, but are more predictable from the perspective of the fiction of the period in terms of the cast of characters and their various foibles, although her uncle Tom the shoemaker who loves her to read Mrs. Gaskell to him while he works is an exception there. The same sturdy prose and piquant observations, but it feels like her heart was more in the Lark Rise book. She got to explain a life she knew by heart, that no one had ever explained before, which really needed explaining. And, for all its challenges and precariousness, that life was home, she came back to it through the book.


      Lily and I had a little domestic adventure this week. It was the first night that was going to go below forty, and I wanted to take the air conditioner out of the bedroom window to make it warmer without having to turn on the radiator. So, I was getting it out, having issues closing one of the sliding side panels, when Lily arrived excitedly at the open window. She loves all open windows, and there was the little porch roof, invitingly only a few feet below. I thought, well, it's pitch black and freezing, she's not going to jump out there. So, of course, as soon as I had the second side panel closed, that's what she did. Ba-dump, like two big raindrops on the old tin roof. She looked up at me proudly with her eyes all huge in the dark. Great! I put the air conditioner away in the closet then went and got a big cardboard box that she sometimes hops into. But, looking out, I couldn't see her anymore. I put my head out and there she was, walking on the edge of the roof, it gave me total vertigo. Then I leaned out of the window and put the box on the roof, steadying it with my hand. She came back to the middle of the roof, and I was hoping she would jump in, but she just looked at me like "What's that box doing out here?" And yes, it was a silly idea. Was I worried about her, or did I want to close the window because cold air was pouring into the bedroom, or a little of both? I took the box back to its home, thinking, "Just go away, she'll hop back in when she feels like it." And she did, I heard her arrive on the windowsill again from the kitchen, funny how you know when your cat is no longer out on the roof in the dark. This photo is from the next day, you can tell what's on her mind. I don't exactly love her being on this roof, but there's also a more level porch roof with less pitch and less initial drop in front of the studio windows, I'll see if she's interested in that some sunny afternoon next week.


      Took a walk this afternoon to a place in the park where I spent a lot of time as a kid. Later, in high school, I used to take black and white photos there with my grandfather's old Speed Graphic 4x5. I guess there's always a good reason to leave the place where you grew up, but, being back again, there are also aspects of the experience to reconsider.




      The famous toad lily in the backyard blooms in the Fall, a long spray of these wonderfully goofy cascading toads.


      Lily is a beauty, but she's also a beast, and this is an interesting combination. Sometimes she just has to throttle something. After a session like this she feels better.


      I guess everyone scampers about in their own way.


      Oh, nothing.


      The room where I work has really nice light for what I'm doing. Not the biggest, but it's okay if I keep things organized.


       Cats are interesting about politeness, Lily will always defer to me about going through a doorway, or up the stairs, unless I tell her to go first. She doesn't really like having a camera pointed at her, I think she feels it's impolite. I often get a very blank look if I take a picture of her full on. This is frustrating because of the way her personality generally just radiates from her eyes. So, this week I tried a few photos where the camera wasn't at eye level. These are a little trickier, this is at night, the camera on the desk, I was looking at the computer, not her. Does she look like a benevolent, multi-dimensional cosmic being here, observing her ever-deluded, somewhat goofy human pupil, or is that just me?

For further information on technique or a specific painting please contact tadspurgeon@gmail.com
copyright © 2002-2019 by Tad Spurgeon. All rights reserved.
web site design by Axis Web Design.