Crusty's Back.
Pulled in about ten-thirty Friday night, whipped, beat, a good mite poorer, but happy as a pig in mud. (I know it's supposed to be "a pig in shit", but I've yet to meet a pig who digs being in a wallowfull of shit. For that matter I don't think I've met ANY animal who'd willingly, happily roll about in a pit of feces all the live-long day...with the possible exception of Karl Rove. Ok, I found *one* animal who thrives under such conditions. Yay me.) And why am I happy? Because I got re-aquainted with Real Media, in the field, for the first time since 1999, and realized how much I'd missed it, that there's why.
For those what don't know: I've been full-tilt digital since 2000. It's been out of love, not necessity. I truly do love working digitally. The computer provides a painting environment as unique as oils or watercolor. It's painting and photography, collage and drawing, all rolled into one. Over the years I've developed techniques to bend the beast to my will. Not since the airbrush has there been a tool whose default usages called so much attention to itself. This isn't what you want as an artist. You don't want your message in competition with your tools. Those same tools permit you to do some wild things, though, in ways that would be impossible (or ridiculously difficult) with real media. I dug that, and still do dig it.
So why back to real media?
Nothing gives you such clear lessons about color as the real world. Color? What am I saying..the real world is THE teacher, on every level, in every arena of art that comes to mind. The computer's downfall is it emulates how color functions. It's one stage removed from reality. Since we don't fully understand how color works ourselves, it's hard to make a computer fill in the gaps. Go Out There and start painting. That'll learn ya. And that's just color. Nothing builds confidence like creating a window on the world with Analog Media. No Undo to lean on, no Layers, just the same tools people like Sargent, Mucha, Van Dyck, Zorn, Alma-Tedema, Corot and Fechin used, working your way down the same path they and thousands of others have followed. The computer hasn't yet replaced touch, that sensual connection you get when your fingers put pastel to paper. It's yummy. Even in the heat, the capricious afternoon wind, through clouds of biting insects and sunburns; all these things are symptoms of being so lost in the act of creation you remain conscious only of your relation to the landscape and the surface you're working. All the words that come to mind make me think of sex. Yummy, sensuous, luscious, delicious, delightful, exciting, satisfying. Come to think of it, they work for food too. Maybe that's my Holy Triune: art, sex, food. (Got the first and third covered. Like you needed to know.)
I've missed this. I've missed it like I've missed a best friend I somehow misplaced in time and space, through my own foolishness. Like a good workout, having done it I can't understand why I haven't been doing it all along. Laziness can be a habit too. I've failed to appreciate how much of a role inertia has played in my life. It's only in recent years that I've begun the hard work of disentangling myself from bad habits. This year's proving to be the start of some backbreaking stall-clearing, but the good news? I've reintroduced myself to plien aire. Maybe, in some fashion, I've just become reaquainted with a part of myself I've neglected for far too long.
The class itself? I can keep that to the high points. It was landscape painting with chalk pastels, a medium I adore but set aside for the better part of a dozen years. Don't ask me why, it was a stupid choice. Blather. I stayed with jwyldragon and skyoxford but got to see them a very little. I was out of the house by 7:30 in the am and often didn't make it back until after ten in the evening. The instructor was a walking encyclopaedia on the subject of all things art, a tall fellow completely dedicated to being a painter with solid teaching chops to boot. Our class had three other commercial artists in attendance (excluding me), the prerequisite gaggle of middle-aged housewives, a couple of nuts (again, excluding me), and for the icing, a large bunch of these folks ranged from good to frinking awesome. I somehow missed most of the dramatic events. This can most likely be explained by my habit of finding the perfect subject matter hidden somewhere between all the clots of fellow students. We had one good meltdown and a couple of solid arguments that came up a hair short of blows. According to Richard, who does a fair number of such events, this role...instructor, psychoanalist, ombudsman, cheerleader...is what he's come to expect.
It's amazing the things you hear over several glasses of wine, late in the evening, when most of your classmates have gone and the opportunity to gossip has settled in with the first stars of the evening.
Where will this all lead? It's already gotten me on the attendance list for Richard's next event in the Northwest in late September of '07. I'll be spending some time saving my shekels. It's going to be a pricey little seven-day retreat. Meanwhile, back at the ranch? Painting excursions, once a month, to start with. Maybe it'll be to figure drawing, maybe out on the road somewhere, quite prolly back up to lovely Bellingham with Mr. Sky and Miz J'wyl, that I may revisit places like Skagit Flats. (spacehyena, my dear, we have GOT to go there when you get here. Birding opportunities a-go-go!!) Painting my friends, like I'd intended to start doing ages ago. Going out and snagging some models to pose for me, including some who'd be willing to Pose Naughty. Doing personal artwork, using the good weather to use this newfound old friend.
This is a must. No letting go of it, this time.
If for no other reason, I've got to justify the French Easel and all the pastels I bought. Dakota Art Store, my ass. It's a Crack House and I'm an addict with ready access to plastic. bidness expense, baby!!
I'll get peekables up when possible. Keep your Feebles crossed, y'awl. Help Berbie keep himself on the Warped and Wild Wide Way!
For those what don't know: I've been full-tilt digital since 2000. It's been out of love, not necessity. I truly do love working digitally. The computer provides a painting environment as unique as oils or watercolor. It's painting and photography, collage and drawing, all rolled into one. Over the years I've developed techniques to bend the beast to my will. Not since the airbrush has there been a tool whose default usages called so much attention to itself. This isn't what you want as an artist. You don't want your message in competition with your tools. Those same tools permit you to do some wild things, though, in ways that would be impossible (or ridiculously difficult) with real media. I dug that, and still do dig it.
So why back to real media?
Nothing gives you such clear lessons about color as the real world. Color? What am I saying..the real world is THE teacher, on every level, in every arena of art that comes to mind. The computer's downfall is it emulates how color functions. It's one stage removed from reality. Since we don't fully understand how color works ourselves, it's hard to make a computer fill in the gaps. Go Out There and start painting. That'll learn ya. And that's just color. Nothing builds confidence like creating a window on the world with Analog Media. No Undo to lean on, no Layers, just the same tools people like Sargent, Mucha, Van Dyck, Zorn, Alma-Tedema, Corot and Fechin used, working your way down the same path they and thousands of others have followed. The computer hasn't yet replaced touch, that sensual connection you get when your fingers put pastel to paper. It's yummy. Even in the heat, the capricious afternoon wind, through clouds of biting insects and sunburns; all these things are symptoms of being so lost in the act of creation you remain conscious only of your relation to the landscape and the surface you're working. All the words that come to mind make me think of sex. Yummy, sensuous, luscious, delicious, delightful, exciting, satisfying. Come to think of it, they work for food too. Maybe that's my Holy Triune: art, sex, food. (Got the first and third covered. Like you needed to know.)
I've missed this. I've missed it like I've missed a best friend I somehow misplaced in time and space, through my own foolishness. Like a good workout, having done it I can't understand why I haven't been doing it all along. Laziness can be a habit too. I've failed to appreciate how much of a role inertia has played in my life. It's only in recent years that I've begun the hard work of disentangling myself from bad habits. This year's proving to be the start of some backbreaking stall-clearing, but the good news? I've reintroduced myself to plien aire. Maybe, in some fashion, I've just become reaquainted with a part of myself I've neglected for far too long.
The class itself? I can keep that to the high points. It was landscape painting with chalk pastels, a medium I adore but set aside for the better part of a dozen years. Don't ask me why, it was a stupid choice. Blather. I stayed with jwyldragon and skyoxford but got to see them a very little. I was out of the house by 7:30 in the am and often didn't make it back until after ten in the evening. The instructor was a walking encyclopaedia on the subject of all things art, a tall fellow completely dedicated to being a painter with solid teaching chops to boot. Our class had three other commercial artists in attendance (excluding me), the prerequisite gaggle of middle-aged housewives, a couple of nuts (again, excluding me), and for the icing, a large bunch of these folks ranged from good to frinking awesome. I somehow missed most of the dramatic events. This can most likely be explained by my habit of finding the perfect subject matter hidden somewhere between all the clots of fellow students. We had one good meltdown and a couple of solid arguments that came up a hair short of blows. According to Richard, who does a fair number of such events, this role...instructor, psychoanalist, ombudsman, cheerleader...is what he's come to expect.
It's amazing the things you hear over several glasses of wine, late in the evening, when most of your classmates have gone and the opportunity to gossip has settled in with the first stars of the evening.
Where will this all lead? It's already gotten me on the attendance list for Richard's next event in the Northwest in late September of '07. I'll be spending some time saving my shekels. It's going to be a pricey little seven-day retreat. Meanwhile, back at the ranch? Painting excursions, once a month, to start with. Maybe it'll be to figure drawing, maybe out on the road somewhere, quite prolly back up to lovely Bellingham with Mr. Sky and Miz J'wyl, that I may revisit places like Skagit Flats. (spacehyena, my dear, we have GOT to go there when you get here. Birding opportunities a-go-go!!) Painting my friends, like I'd intended to start doing ages ago. Going out and snagging some models to pose for me, including some who'd be willing to Pose Naughty. Doing personal artwork, using the good weather to use this newfound old friend.
This is a must. No letting go of it, this time.
If for no other reason, I've got to justify the French Easel and all the pastels I bought. Dakota Art Store, my ass. It's a Crack House and I'm an addict with ready access to plastic. bidness expense, baby!!
I'll get peekables up when possible. Keep your Feebles crossed, y'awl. Help Berbie keep himself on the Warped and Wild Wide Way!