Brush Strokes

Brush Strokes

    Let's face it, I can't draw a stick and that's the truth, for even my sticks look like, well, anything but sticks.  All of which adds to my admiration for books by talented artists, commercial or otherwise, revealing some of their secrets.  There's something different in their eye, the way they see, the proportions or the colors or the spaces, all meshed with their ability to get it down onto whatever material they're working with.  Years ago, a psychic told me to venture into trying sculptures, working with clay, something I've never done.  Yet I admire the care and vision such sculptors have, to think that with a simple chisel and hammer and perhaps a bit of rough stone and polishing, a piece of granite or marble or clay can be turned into something so captivatingly precious to the viewer.  Of course, those with natural talent have a massive headstart.

    John Seerey-Lester began sketching and painting at age 8, and his book on painting wildlife (from 2003) goes into some of the fine mechanics that we non-painters will interpret as gibberish...Windor & Newton Finity acrylics, Robert Simmons series 21 brushes, Hughes easel 3000, blocking and using gesso.  But from all of this he begins to grow very specific, painting only the eyes of various birds and bears, or the 9-step process of painting a grizzly bear's fur, or the higher tufts of the ear on a lynx vs. that of a bobcat, or how to capture movement.  The results are far beyond the average painter and some of his works can be viewed at the Canadian's Art Country gallery site.

Into the Clearing -- Jaguar, by John Seerey Lester

    Of course, I've tried all the books, the advice to section off your subject into grids, or to try and paint the image upside down, or to use the other side of your brain; and of course, practice and tutelage help substantially.  But in the end, my stick ends up looking nothing at all like the peeling birch bark on the trees of John Seerey Lester's works.  From his book:  The idea stage of a painting takes the most time for me.  People often ask me how long it takes to do a painting.  My answer: It can take years.  Coming up with a concept that works is a long thought process.  The more paintings I do --I stopped counting at two thousand-- the harder it becomes to come up with a unique idea.  But once I've developed an idea, the actual painting process may take only days or weeks.  My thought process varies.  Sometimes I refer to my field sketches, photos and videos, which go back many years.  These references often remind me of experiences I've had in the field, which prompt new ideas.  Other times, I develop a purely abstract design concept and adapt it to a wildlife subject.  Abstract design allows me to work with the balance between dark and light as well as the composition without worrying about a particular subject or image.

    It's not all hopeless, after all, only so many artists of any sort will arrive on stage or fill a gallery or have their works commercially sold.  As the best-selling The Annotated Mona Lisa mentions, Leonardo daVinci was a "...good idea man but bad on follow-through.  Most works unfinished.  Career total of only 34 paintings."  What??  Leonardo, an avid mountain climber, once considered a "menial craftsman," someone "so obsessed with his mathematical experiments" that a priest once said Leonardo "cannot stand his brushes?"  Or Michelangelo who considered painting "an inferior art," all while sculpting the Pieta at age 23 (he lived until 90).  Author Carol Strickland writes about the work in her book, saying: When first unveiled, a viewer attributed the work to a more experienced sculptor, unable to believe a young unknown could accomplish such a triumph.  When Michelangelo heard, he carved his name on a ribbon across the Virgin's breast, the only work he ever signed.

    I once tried the upside down technique in my college days, my model being the face of my sleeping girlfriend at the time.  I was quite proud of the progress, the dark spaces filling in nicely, the image making no sense to me as I sketched (which was the purpose of the technique, to break your mind away from seeing the image perhaps incorrectly, all as a new student to the art); and when she awoke, I triumphantly told her what I was doing and we both gazed with anticipation at the finished product as I spun the piece around.  Did I say gazed?  What I meant to say was "gasped."  It looked rather animal-like, a gorilla caught in the midst of evolution perhaps.  I had to laugh in innocence, but of course she found no humor in my attempt.  And thus my drawing career came to an end (you can watch this technique done in a much better and more unique way by artist Dan Dunn. 

    One other section of the book by John Seerey Lester was his details of layering, of adding small background pieces, even changing them, keeping only parts you liked, putting it all together.  And as much as I knew that I was simply not going to be an artist, much less an artist of his caliber, it didn't mean that I couldn't appreciate his techniques and his knowledge, one of many thousands or millions of such artists in all fields throughout history.  And it also didn't mean that these books were meant only for artists.  There are worlds out there, worlds well out of our fields or comfort zones, and each with its own beauty.  We may not understand them all, or understand them fully, but we can certainly appreciate them and realize that it took more than just talent; as with life, it was the result of layering, be it time or ideas or sheer labor, or perhaps all of those things.  Someday when you're wandering around the library or bookstore, go to a section you might never have thought of before...a section on ship building or nuclear cooling systems or Sikh turbans (fascinating interview and background on the BBC) or the Westminster dog show winner, the German shorthair.  As with paintings, life is a series of layers.  Just keep adding and improving...you just may find the aritst in you.