Work From Home

The price of gas being what it is, and what it's likely to be in the future, it's a good thing you don't need to drive anywhere to go painting. The Guerrilla Painter is especially adept at making paintings out of the simplest things. Once he painted a salt block. Once we were driving home from California and we stopped just east of Sacramento to paint. I thought, "There's nothing here...There's a dirt road, some telephone poles...what's to paint?" His painting turned out beautifully, lots of depth & texture. Maybe there's nothing around except trees. You can use them in a composition that has rhythm & life, in a relationship you've never seen before. It's like what the author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance told his writing students. What makes this thing unique? Part of what makes it unique is your point of view, your vision. Think globally, paint locally.

Artist Trading Cards

Artist Trading Cards have been around since at least 1997. A simple concept...artists use any medium (paint, print, sketching, collage etc.) on a 2.5"X3.5" card (cardstock or any other thin support). They put their name & contact info on the back, trade with each other and collect them. There are trading shows and websites, or maybe the art students in a school will trade with each other when they graduate so they can remember each other ("...I knew her when...")

Some people might sell them, but the concept isn't about making money. It's about creating links.

This seems perfectly adapted to painting outdoors: using a lightweight, conveniently sized support to make something specific to your own neighborhood & landscape and then trading with others around the country or world.

A Lot Like Work

Sometimes it seems that painting outdoors is an awful lot like work.

Recently we were on the west coast, and we went painting on the seashore. The weather was perfect (northern California, breezy, sunny and mild) and we were in a state park, so it was picturesque and not too crowded. What could be easier than doing a watercolor of some small, windblown eucalyptus trees with bright iceplant blooming on the sand next to a fallen log? Well...
I started off in the routine way, framing the scene in my composition finder, marking divisions on the side of the paper, sketching in the trees, log and foreground grass. Then I looked more closely at the tangle of branches, and the "monkey mind" started in with its complaints:
"Look! There's some little birds swimming on the water...wouldn't it be more fun to watch them?"
"Ouch. What's that? My finger is bleeding. Bleeding!"
"Listen to those people having fun. Wouldn't it be more fun to just go wading? You're just an outsider, sitting here trying to paint these trees."
"Um...there's a truck on the beach with big numbers '911' on its side. Something must be wrong." "Are you sure you have enough water? You're going to get thirsty."
"This concrete ledge is starting to feel awfully hard..."

Finally, the voice quieted down and even went away as I kept focusing on the scene. I was feeling grateful that I wasn't a professional painter. It wasn't easy to paint it, but I did manage to cover the paper and even make it resemble what I was looking at. It took three hours altogether (and the concrete was indeed feeling very hard), but it was rewarding work. Maybe that's a good thing to say to the monkey mind's complaints: "Don't worry, nobody has to look at this, and eventually hard work will pay off."

Versions of Truth

When you're painting from life, there's a funny kind of dual reality happening. You're painting a scene, but it's a *painting* ...you look at your trees, your telephone pole, your outhouse, whatever, and you try to sketch them out accurately, but at the same time, you're creating something altogether original.
Recently there was an article in The New Yorker called "Just the Facts, Ma'am" comparing history and fiction. They each have their own kind of "truth," and the facts of history can be as misleading as fantasy if they aren't understood in context. Every historian has a point of view, historical sources are incomplete and were written by people who were not under oath and cannot be cross-examined.

It reminds me of the difference between a painting and a photo of the same scene; the photo might be factual, but the colors might be off, the dark values might conceal subtleties, the details might overwhelm the view, and even the perspective can be distorted by the camera lens. The artist brings his/her imagination and judgments to the work, creating a more meaningful version of "reality."

Or, it's like the difference between a realistic painting and a more expressive version. Like Wolf Kahn here, who gives color a life of its own. He probably has a head start since he uses pastels, and all the colors are there for the choosing, no need to mix the color you want. You can try any color just by holding it up to the painting. Let's see, lavender and...lime green? ...and...coral!

Artistic License

Artistic License for Guerrilla Painters

This is to certify that___________________________________________________________________________
is entitled to operate an artistic vehicle and to participate in creative pursuits including, but not limited to, sketching, drawing, painting, collage, color mixing & charts, visiting galleries & museums, reading books and studying nature.

The imagination may be fully engaged. Ideas & concepts may evolve & change. New brain cells are a possibility. It is important to maintain awareness, whether the eyes are squinting or wide open. Lines may be crossed or become blurry. Perspective may not always exist.

The holder is entitled to make friends with the Mysterious, the Ambiguous & the Unfamiliar, and acknowledge unexpected Juxtapositions.

The work deserves your wholehearted attention. It is entitled to its own individual character. It may be criticized but not humiliated, neglected or abused. It is best to play with your work (if you don’t, it will go to someone who will). Please spend time regularly. Listen & look. Entertain Spontaneity.

Baggage

Here’s an example of what I call the “baggage” that surrounds the concept of art. Impedimenta. Something for a guerrilla painter to be wary of...in this case, official opinions. Recently, ArtReview magazine published its annual list of the 100 most influential people in the art world. They include not just artists but also dealers, critics, museum directors, collectors, curators and art-fair organizers. When the Wall Street Journal (yes) published excerpts, it trumpeted: "The people who make or break art." "The top players." "Who rules the art world?" Oh, please. 

ArtReview is based in London, but its view is global. The editors mention some of the things that might affect the ranking: blockbuster exhibitions, new commissions, the value of the dollar, taste of Russian buyers, locations of auction activity, or symbiosis of curator and donor. The editors make the comment, “...if artists have always lived in the shadow of their patrons, it’s the artwork that ultimately endures.” I’d like to make the observation that the artwork endures as long as someone cares enough to take care of it. Sometimes even bronze statues are stolen and melted down for the value of the metal. Private collections might be housed in private museums, but museums, whether public or private, depend on funding, which can shift with the political, economic or cultural winds. 

I suppose it’s only human to want to rank things & people. But the whole point of what we broadly refer to as art is its meaning. And meaning is always personal and individual. It only exists if we become aware of it, discover or create it for ourselves.

Encore

Awhile back, I overheard an artist giving advice to a friend who paints. The only part I could hear clearly was, "Paint it, wipe it off, paint it, wipe it off..." At first, this sounded like a recipe for frustration. But then I remembered when I'd done a face on watercolor canvas and I kept making "improvements." What I had at first was okay, but I wanted it better, so I kept making changes. I came to a point where I had to erase most of it (you can do that on watercolor canvas) and start over. To my surprise, it wasn't really like starting over, because the face had been created in my mind as well as on the canvas. Very few visual cues were left in place, but they were more than enough for me to re-create the whole thing. 

Of course, you can't do this on watercolor paper, but if you've ever thought of painting the same scene repeatedly, that would have the same effect. Try different styles, different times of day, different weather, different brightness of colors...or maybe just do it the same way. It will sink in to your consciousness and become much easier to do.