Poolside

Poolside was painted using a photo reference. I would guess most representational painters use photographs from time to time and you might think that would make things pretty easy. Simply copy the photograph. But the problem lies in that photographs lie. My teachers have told me this and I believe them! Shadows in photos are always a terrible, ugly dark colors. Everything is on one plane. There is no mid-ground or far-ground to be seen. Every single detail is showing and none of these things make for a beautiful painting. So the photo is a reference and only that. You have to work as hard when you paint from a photo as you do from real life to create a beautiful painting. Leave out all the unnecessary so the necessary can tell their story. Paint shadows as beautiful as the lights around them. And push back the background using fuzzy edges, grayed out colors or lumping details into masses of unidentified but interesting shapes. You simply have to outwit your photograph so it’s lies don’t spoil your painting! See Joanne Shellan's website at http://www.joanneshellan.com/.

Adirondack, Apple, and Abridgment

Just like a good story teller, a painter wants to tell a story too. She saw a certain something that moved her and she wants to share that with the viewer. A superb story teller captures you with the first sentence. Each word and pause counts. Talk too long or say too much and the story is spoiled. It’s very similar with painting; tell your story with a limited number of strokes. The example is this painting of the Adirondack chair, an apple and a mug. Abridge the elements so it says enough without telling too much. No need to show every part of the chair to know it’s an Adirondack chair. No need to show every blade of grass or the title of the book. The viewer is perfectly capable of filling in any blanks. Abridge, condense, and shorten. All words for good storytelling and good painting.  http://www.joanneshellan.com/

Taking stock of Critique Groups

As a relatively new user of critique groups, I'm practically evangelical in my praises for them. I have found it extremely useful to have all those fresh eyes examining my painting and telling me what works and does not work on my painting. By fresh eyes, I mean other than the artist’s eyes which are somehow veiled to the truth of their own painting. It’s like an umbilical cord links the artist to their work and till that cord is severed, which sometimes takes months or even years after the work is completed, most artists are unable to objectively see their work. The trick with critique groups is to find or create one with artists near or above your ability. Take notes on all the comments about your work, listen instead of defending yourself, and then sort through the comments later. Through experience, you’ll begin to figure out what comments to discard and which make sense to incorporate. I brought this painting of the stockpot and vegetables to my current teacher and to one of the critique groups who, of course, had opposite things to say. Now I get to look inside myself and decide which direction to take it next. It’s my decision but made better by all those fresh eyes. http://www.joanneshellan.com/

Tulips and Cake- in a painterly fashion

 

Painterly. It's a term that only painters use and perhaps made up as well. But it does mean something to painters. It's when you're not house-painting; another term painter’s use but always in a derogatory way (no offense to real house painters who do a fine job). House-painting is when you've drawn out your picture and you simply fill in each little section with color. What, you say? That's not how you do it? No, dear. Not at all but it's sure as heck how most of us started out! As you mature as a painter, you begin a dance with your paint brush every time you paint. Its a little love dance done on canvas. You twist and scumble, push paint and alight like a butterfly all over the canvas. To watch a master painter paint is a bit of a miracle, almost like watching an Olympic athlete. Some add to this act of putting paint on canvas the layering of paint with big, juicy gobs of paint that leave beautiful textural strokes. This usually happens when the painting is nearly complete. You lay down strips of light on the canvas with often large, directional strokes of paint. The way the light falls on the subject is practically physical for the painter. Like laying a comforter on a sleeping baby, it follows the form.
This 16x20" still-life oil painting was done in the studio from a live set-up and yes, I ate two huge slices of cake when I was done dancing with my paint brush.

We Take the Hill

Joanne's Website    I had a recent conversation where a good friend seemed surprised when I said I would only paint from photos I had taken*. I added that it was very important to me that I had been there, had the experience and felt a strong emotional tug about the scene. So that led me to think that I bet many people who are NOT artists might think that artists choose what to paint by what sells, what's popular or hip in colors that are this year’s biggest hues. They might think artists simply scroll around the internet or magazines for images they like and then paint them exactly as they are presented. But you know what? That isn’t how most artists work. Most are compelled to paint what they paint. They might start with pulses of images or ideas that flash through their heads right before sleep. Then perhaps they sketch it around a bit or set up a photo-shoot or still-life. Some paintings are spurred by photographs like this one of women heading to work at a hotel at a tourist town in Mexico. Certain strong images are sort of burned into your head- whether you get them by sketches or photographs. And when they don’t go away, you work it into a painting. A painting is as much about the artist as it is about the subject matter—and if you can see that in the painting, then it’s a keeper. "We Take the Hill", 18x24" oil on cradled hardboard by Joanne Shellan


Exceptions being commission work

Cabo Boats

Joanne's Website    Every once in a while, if you're really lucky, you hit on a teacher or mentor who is just right for where you're at right now. Other teachers may have had the right message but you weren't ready to own it yet. Or you wanted to learn one set of things and the teacher seemed to be heading up a different path. I count my lucky stars every day because I have a great teacher right now in Liana Bennett. Before I started this boat painting, she emphasized to me how the very beginning stage is the MOST important part. Spend loads of time coming up with a solid composition & lightly block it in so you have little invested in the drawing—then when you need to swab the deck clean with turpentine, you won’t cry because your gorgeous drawing is getting wiped out. Take time to thinly block in the correct values and colors. Stand twenty feet back now and look at it. Test how the eye is led through the piece. Figure out the problems and fix them before you get into the depth of the painting. So three hours later, I brought home only the beginning scratches of this painting but I had done as my teacher recommended. Her advice is great and I hope you can use it too. Get lucky!

Good Cherry Pie

Joanne's Website   Be dogged. Be persistent. Stick with it and you might yet get it~! That's the carrot that always keeps me going. I went back into this painting a third time and finally I'm satisfied. What do you think? Isn't it better than the last post? Let me tell you a little painter's secret; the absolute best part of a painting is at the very, very end when you get to put in your lightest lights and highlights! Oh joy! The painting comes to life under these final but important strokes. The difference between last week's cherry pie and this re-do is that this one has unified strong light and dark areas. The last version was muddled and less defined. Clearly defined and persistent are our words for today.