Guest posting today

Today I'm posting about my Outer Banks paintings as a guest blogger over at the Queen of the Surf Pirates Blog. It's a fun and informative blog with the latest Outer Banks surfing info, beach news and more, courtesy of Paula Degatto and Sammy the Surf Dog from Nags Head in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Check it out, and thanks Paula for the invitation!

New coastal sunset landscape painting; "Finale"

Fresh off the easel, this painting is of a spectacular sunset we saw on one of our trips to the Outer Banks of North Carolina this summer. It's Silver Lake Harbor on Ocracoke Island, to be exact. This painting and other recent landscapes will be included in my upcoming show called "Luminosity".

"Finale" Oil on Canvas, 24x36" (SOLD) ©Jennifer Young

I'm calling this piece "Finale" (as in "the grand finale") because, like a finale in a live orchestral performance, sunsets are like nature's final performance of the day. They never fail to dazzle, and yet no two performances are ever exactly the same.

Expression through movement in landscape painting

Recently I gave an interview to a very bright young lady from the UK who was studying my work for an A Levels school project. Here is one of her questions, and the response she inspired: "I really admire your style of brushwork in your images,  where your strokes around the top of the trees and in the grass make me feel as though the painting is moving. I really like this and wondered why you choose to use this technique in your work?" -ST

Dear S.T.,

That is a wonderful observation and a great compliment. Thank you! I paint the landscape for several reasons, but mainly because it evokes in me a strong positive emotional response. So when I'm painting,  I try to convey the emotional energy I feel from the subjects I paint. There are many ways to express this emotional impact--through use of line and color choices, through composition, and yes, through brushwork (movement), to name a few.

There is movement all around us in nature if one will sit still long enough to observe it. A perfect way to practice this is to go down to the ocean shore and sit on the beach. Just sit and see how much life is moving and teeming all around you that we often are too busy to even notice.

Last week when I vacationed at the beach, I did this very thing. I noted the hundreds upon hundreds of  tiny crabs popping in and out of holes in the sand. I saw thin veils of sand blowing in the wind and subtly changing the shape of the shoreline. Small schools of fish zipped past my feet as I waded in the water. And if I really wanted to watch the world change before my eyes all I'd have to do is watch the sun rise and set. Thousands of miracles take place before our eyes every day if we take the time to notice.

In my paintings, I don't even attempt to compete with the miracles of nature. But I do try to celebrate them in my own small way. The use of movement in my work is one of the ways I capture these fleeting moments. On a more mundane, formal level I also am aware that showing movement through brushwork and through the composition is a way add interest to a painting and move the viewer's eye around the work of art. Thanks for your questions and good luck with your project!

Plein air painting tips

The other day Misti posed a few really good questions in my comments section about plein air painting. So I thought I'd share her questions and expand on my response below.

 "I have been wanting to do some plein air work but am sort of afraid of diving in. I think it is the whole finished product I am afraid of as well as the time. How long do you spend working on a painting and what do you do with light changes? or do you choose a specific time when you will have the most time?Thanks!"

Thanks for your comment. As I said in my previous response, I can really empathize with your concerns. It's common to want to feel a sense of accomplishment when you put forth such effort. When I first started painting en plein air, a lot of my studies went straight from easel to the trash heap! It can take some time to really develop a process that works well enough to capture that fleeting light and elusive feeling that inspired you to paint it in the first place.

A few thoughts and suggestions:

• To battle with that ever-changing light, it helps if you make a decision about the light you want to paint, and commit to that even if the light changes and the clouds roll in. This is very challenging, as you have to get your main color and shadow notes down pretty quickly to commit to that idea.
• Due to its rectangular format, a  photograph will already provide a composition for your painting. When you're painting on location it can be a little overwhelming because the scene before you is so expansive and it can be difficult to translate all of that 3-D information onto a small rectangular 2 dimensional plane. 
• To help with this, it is a very good idea to do a little planning even before you start your painting. I like to bring a small sketchbook with me and make some very quick thumbnail pencil sketches before I commit to a particular composition. In this way I can determine where to place my center of interest and how to frame my scene. 
• In regards to "how long," two hours has been the maximum amount of time that I've been able to paint at one sitting on location, and even then that can be pushing it. Any longer and the light has changed too drastically and it just causes you confusion. Better to come back to the scene at the same time again the next day and finish up.
• If a return visit on a subsequent day isn't possible, another option is to take a photo when you start and when you end and use these references to make a few finishing touches to your painting. The danger here is that once you get back to the studio you can lose the information and freshness you've captured on location if you overwork it too much away from the source.
• A better option may be to work small. This is particularly true if you are just beginning to paint on location. Working on small canvases allows you to more easily cover your canvas in the limited time frame. You may feel less overwhelmed and less worried about possible "failure" (though in reality, any time spent learning is never a failure, regardless of the finished product!)
• As for the time of day, mornings and evenings offer the most interesting light and shadow. By noon all of the light is pretty flat and shadows have disappeared, so this is least appealing to me. I find the mornings a little easier than the evenings, simply because the light doesn't change quite so quickly. However, there is nothing so seductive as that beautiful golden evening light. And if you really want to do some turbo-charged painting, try painting a sunset!
• Most importantly, go about it with an open mind and with no expectations other than that you are showing up to learn and to experience. With persistence your studies will get stronger, and the benefit you have gained from the experience will pay off big time for you in your studio work as well. At least, that is what I have found in my own work.

And with those thoughts on plein air painting, I am off for a week to do a little of my own. We're off to the beach and I'd be surprised if blogging will be an option. Have a great Labor Day Weekend everyone and I'll be back to posting when I return!

Painting is a response (so move the $%#! tree).

I was talking to a non-painter about painting recently and she said, "The kind of art I like is imaginative. I don't care much for a copy of a photograph or a copy of a scene even in life. It's far more interesting to me to see a painting that came from the artist's head." Well, I couldn't agree more. But I hate to break it to her; all art comes from the "artist's head." The artist is painting in response to something, whether it be a concept or idea, a story, or an observation. Even in landscape painting (or any kind of painting even remotely related to realism) I think that true artistry occurs when the artist is not copying, but painting her response to a subject, and is fully able to communicate that response in a way that is original and distills the subject to its essence.

The reasons behind my choice of subjects vary. Sometimes it is the sheer beauty of a place that triggers an emotional response. Sometimes the scene evokes a memory. Sometimes it is the light. Sometimes I respond to something as simple as lines and planes. But it is all about my response or my interpretation.

Copying a scene so that it looks like a photo, or even looks like the view in front of me in the open air, is not nearly as important to me as expressing my response to the subject. As I heard artist Kenn Backhaus say once, "I'm not interested in making historical paintings." Backhaus paints en plein air, but he also uses many different combinations of his own photos at times to inform his studio paintings. He uses these resources in order to express his unique vision, frequently with masterful results.

I work in a similar manner (but still working on the mastery part.) ;-) Sometimes one scene says it all. Other times I may combine several different elements from varying photos and studies to relay the idea or feeling about a place or experience. Even in realism, the subject matter is the jumping off point. It is subordinate to the idea --just one vehicle for the greater goal of artistic expression.

Painting on location is important for the simple reason that there is more to respond to in life than in a photo. But even painting en plein air, artists can fall into the trap of subordinating their art for the sake of historical accuracy. I was out painting with a fellow artist once and we set up in different locations to paint the same scene. I took a break from my work and inquired about my friend's progress. "It's going okay," he said. "But I wish that tree was in a different place." "Then for heaven's sake," I said. "You're an artist! Move the $%#!  tree."

Painting successfully from photos offers its own set of challenges, because you are responding to a frozen moment in time. That is not how the eyes see and not how we respond in life. In addition to painting en plein air, I do work from photos. But they are my own photos, usually taken from travels where I have made a point to also do some painting or sketching (accompanied usually by long spans of sitting and sighing and blissfully observing) on location. So even working from my photos, it is always about my experience, except that I am also having to rely more on memory than from life in the moment.

As an artist I've worked using many different approaches. Sometimes it all does come "from my head", and at other times I use nature as my inspiration. There are times when I am so seduced by a scene that I find it perfect, and I try to capture it just as I see it. But even then, I try to keep in mind my ultimate goal to make a strong painting that communicates my unique response. I may not always find success, but it's something to move towards. And if a tree gets in my way, I have no qualms about moving the $%#! tree.