Making a Painting From Start to Finish
And how I use my new lamination process
Starting is always the hard part….like staring into oblivion for a few moments, rather scary, with kind of a sick-in-your-stomach feeling, plus it’s a pain in the ass, because there’s effort and a strange kind of uncertainty involved….you sort of know, and you sort of don’t…and you kind of don’t want to know what the hell is going to happen. But the trick is to short-form the starting process. Make starting quick, don’t fart around. Set up the materials, set some music, get your coffee, take a few breaths and relax, and don’t ponder too much. Just start.
I try to trick myself a lot. I really don’t want to make any effort at all. I’d prefer if the paintings just appeared, all beautiful, and un-selfconscious. If I could make these things in my sleep, I would! So this fairly new way I’ve devised helps with this.
I’ll know what I want to paint in advance. In this case I’m working from photos I take on my walks. Sometimes I use quick sketches, or pure invention, but this work uses a section of a photo I’ve cropped out. BTW I really like cropping out sections of photos. I end up with a more intimate feel this way, and somehow the image seems more secretive, which I also like very much. Cropping out sections of photos helps with this, because the camera itself feels even more like a neutral recorder when it’s not aimed specifically. The composition is mostly arranged in the cropping; it’s not fully planned in advance of the shot.
And here’s the big trick. We know that art is not important. We know that all things are not important. Everything will pass, and not even a hint of anything of us or what we make will survive in the geological record. And yet art is so important. Because we can’t help but want to make and leave behind something true and beautiful and good. It’s part of creating a meaningful existence while we are here. So you make important things, while knowing that nothing really is important, or ever lasts…..in a way, this is freeing.
So, I make the paintings small and secretive, and for these, I begin with scraps of thin paper that have been covered previously with a layer of left-over acrylic paint. I have 100s of these sheets so I have many colors to choose from as I start.
I have discovered that this paper laminates beautifully onto panels, and this finishes a rather quickly made work in a really appealing, satisfying way. I’ll say a bit more about this lamination process later in this piece.
So why this thin paper? It’s to make the process as intimate and carefree as possible. It’s to try to fool myself further into making this very conscious process of painting into something as easy as breathing.
The first photo above is a brief drawing made with the pencil moving more or less continuously. It’s a simple mapping of the composition with a few key darks entered. The under-color will help give some life to the surface as I begin blocking in color shapes and lines. The gessoed Masonite panels are prepared in advance, and the panel for this work has been traced onto the paper. The paper will be cropped with a blade and ruler to these edges after the painting is dry.
As I block in I conceive of the whole composition as a kind of puzzle. I try not to consciously think too much, or if there is any thinking at all, it is of a very practical nature (this has to be covered first, so that this part can go on top). My paint mixing is almost automatic at this point. All darks are made by mixing opposite dark colors together. It’s important to have a feel for what is essential to the mood of the piece and to enter those color areas that instinct decides are essential first. This is still a very hesitant and rather scary stage of the picture. Everything is left to trust. Nothing really looks like it will work out, BUT, I’ve come to know that everything really will work out in some satisfactory way. It’s important not to stop…just keep mixing and entering color. The process gradually becomes more exciting and self-sustaining as this happens. And then the painting starts to develop its own energy and feed back to me, so that the work comes easily.
This photo is on the screen right in front of me as I paint. It’s there to guide in a very basic way, and to suggest how shapes move into shapes, and how small and medium sizes are arranged within larger shapes. At all stages the painting remains quite abstract. While surface qualities and textures might be hinted at, for the most part the painting will remain an arrangement of line, mark, shape and flat color.
I let the thick quality of the paint itself serve an expressive function. I watch how space is suggested as shapes lock together. Color mixtures are matched to what I desire but it’s expected that some over-painting will have to happen. I try to make colors opaque as possible so coverage will be good, but sometimes transparencies, especially with reds, will happen which will be modified later in the work. There is no such thing as finish in this process; everything is based on color, shape, and size interaction with other elements. While I aim to suggest a visual reality, too much description can be the kiss of death, because expressive qualities of shape and color will be compromised if too many things are put in simply because they are there in fact. The painting has its own reality, and nature has its own reality. But they are different things.
Once a painting is fully blocked in like this, I look for areas of transition between one shape and other. I ask myself if some areas would benefit from complication in this way. Sometimes I don’t think they would benefit, so I leave areas out even if there is more data there to record. Of great importance is the idea of scale. The eye always sees large, middle, and small in some sort of organization, when we scan the world at large. It’s partly how we make sense of things, plus, it’s visually exciting because of the innate contrast that is offered through these differences.
Everything that is put in either adds to, or subtracts from, the quality of the whole. So at this late stage of the painting, everything that gets entered is closely monitored for how if affects the energy the piece is giving off. It’s possible to do too much, and one can also kill the life of a section by over-painting without enough intent, or by not being decisive enough.
It may seem corny to say, but the way a mark, a line, or a color hits the surface carries an energy or a life. It’s possible to be very open to this quality and tap into it in the process. Conversely, it’s possible to be too intent, too improperly invested, not playful enough, so that this lively quality of almost automatic handwriting is stymied.
In this finished piece you can see how the undercoat of yellow still peeks through in places, serving to enliven the surface and color relationships. Pencil is often brought back in for smaller details over acrylic paint that has had some minutes to dry. I stop when a bit of life is suggested. You’ll also notice that contrasts of value play prominently in how the piece is organized. Darks, lights, and middle values are arranged in such a way as to suggest that space can be moved through and into.
When these works are in the process of being made on thin paper, they look messy, impermanent, and like something the cat dragged in. And that is helpful in the creative process because it makes the enterprise less precious, more playful….and, in short, more fun to make.
This last image shows the finished painting properly laminated to the gessoed Masonite panel. The dried painting is trimmed and sized to the exact dimensions of the panel. The back of the painting is lightly sprayed with cold water which is brushed into the paper. This allows the paper to expand slightly. Upon this paper an even, fairly thin layer of Lineco PH neutral adhesive is brushed, and the painting is carefully placed onto the Masonite panel. A piece of scrap paper is placed over the painting to protect it and a plastic scraper is repeatedly pulled across the image from the center to the edges, to force out air bubbles and excess glue. The effect is both delicate and robust, and gives the final image a very resolved, complete look.
It’s also very satisfying to complete this final gluing stage, as it’s a very precise and methodical craft step that is so much in contrast to the improvisational, intuitive way the painting is made. It feels very pleasing to put these two ways of making together, and I love how the finished pieces look.
The work is left to dry for a number of days before a coat of flat acrylic varnish is applied to protect the work. A layer of cold wax medium is then applied and buffed to provide a soft, subtle sheen.
I find that these little inventions of process or technique are really key to keep the whole enterprise of painting going. And it’s so pleasing when you find some method that really suits your needs!
As always, the work I complete on a daily basis is immediately listed to my 2 sales sites:
Thankyou so much for sharing your thoughts and process in this post. Very inspiring!
Thanks for another wisdom packed newsletter! Your description of diving in and keeping things abstract all along the way was brilliant! It’s keeping in that mode until the end where I struggle. As things progress and start becoming forms I recognize I get all nervous and flip back into “I know what this is” brain and it is then when things start to fall apart. Staying focused on seeing shapes, color, lines and marks in an abstract manner really requires resetting myself many times! Also your comments on overpainting and describing are so on point!