A Converging of Streams of Influence

Above is an early-in-process-snapshot of the third iteration of a painting based off a daydream I had over a decade ago. Through this daydream I noticed that the ripples of my life were weaving into the ripples of another’s life. And for that very reason this image has become an important pillar in my artist excursion. I cannot, and maybe dare not, divulge how many pages this very idea covers in a few sketchbooks over the years. But this is the painting that I’ve known for awhile that I wanted to make the most, and the one that requires the full breadth of my ability. And then some.

Not only does it require all that I can muster, but the fullest expanse of my practice is compulsory. From deep wells of imagination, hidden springs of inspiration, trickling streams of observation, and tributaries of practice. And in the throes of developing this piece, after all of the thumbnail sketches and detail drawings (no, I still won’t tell you how many there are), two failed larger iterations, and this final piece that’s when the notion of “convergence” caught my attention. Alongside the sketches I’ve had to do observational paintings to look at lighting, and to render the figure more believably; the nuances of light and color in the figure and surrounding atmosphere are too much for me to imagine. I’ve also had to study other artists to ponder over their success, looking at compositions and scale, color palettes, brushwork, and layering techniques. I’ve had to brush up on archival processes to ensure a better surface quality. And regular sessions of revivification with my favorite cinematographic films. And all the while the voices of my professors and mentors reverberating the walls of my mind. It has been an incredible coalescence of tributaries.

As much as this painting has been a revelation of what my work requires, it has also shown me how much further I have to go in way of executing the visions and day dreams. I cannot paint without imagination, but those visions and scenes will breadth of my practice. A few months ago this understanding was a heavy weight. But now this understanding is a relief, a benchmark in my journey. And I’m more excited to see what I get to make next.

Building with Layers

Meet Me in the Broken Places, 9”x12” oil on pane, 2020

Finding the majesty in the mundane often requires seeing the beauty in a something as it is, without embellishment. Sometimes it requires the imagination to see beyond, or more of, what is in view. Painters do this all of the time, as editing an image is a great deal of what we do; what we reveal often requires removing or embellishing details to drive the story of the piece. To lead the eye, and the soul, of a viewer across - and into - a painting not a task to be taken lightly.

This landscape is not far from my home, and the barn within was recently demolished for a new neighborhood, and has been a regular delight to observe. Early morning has been the most common view for me in my passing, but it has most profoundly struck me in the Autumn and Winter. This is actually the second piece I’ve painted of this space. I’ve often pondered the history of this barn and the sprawling copse around it. I could almost feel the echo of its memories from the days it was a useful storehouse. And in its aged and broken down state, its facility and beauty were still apparent to me.

In painting this scene, starting with a warm under painting - which you can still see hints of in the thin washes and scratched areas - helped me enliven the wearing cold of winter. While I built up my layers of ever-increasing layers of cooler and bleaker color and value, I was drawn to a place of intimate melancholy. Not merely a sadness, but a reverie of my own state in relation to this scene. Who is willing to investigate me in my brokenness or my decrepitude? Who will see the years of toil and burden? The memories of rigor and strength for a greater purpose? Who might seek to restore and reinvigorate me for the joy ahead? Outside of my bride I can only think of One.

“What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time.” - Ecclesiastes 3:9-11a

An Invitation to Build

Ner Tamid, 15”x24” oil on primed paper, 2020

I remember most of the steps that saw this painting come to fruition. It was painted within same stretch of time as the previous piece but the idea for this one came first. I had been inspired by the foggy wintry scenes around us as well as soundtrack for “The Revenant” which was on heavy repeat in my studio. Thinking over the greys of our Texas winter and the imagery from the film got me thinking about my own frigid forest, and that’s when I caught a glimpse of the above scene.

I’m not sure if it’s from reading Tolkien or watching sci-if and fantasy films, but every time I walk through the woods I hope to come across some mysterious ruins or ancient artifact. This time, however, even in traipsing my mind’s forest, I found something more than I could have wished. Much like in the church scene from “The Revenant” where DiCaprio’s character was briefly reunited with the ghostly visage of his murdered son, what I beheld was a place where grief, deep desire, and a sense of purpose could abide. Hidden in the dense wintry woods I found the ruins of an old synagogue abandoned and overgrown since its apparent destruction save for the area around the bimah. And just above the ark…the ner tamid.

And it was that exact term, “ner tamid”, that spoke to me most clearly. It is a beautiful phrase to say, and is Hebrew for “eternal light”; it is also a small lamp with a living flame used in synagogues as a representation of the Menorah from the Temple. The light was a reminder of God’s eternal presence amid His people Israel. Most traditional churches have something similar near their altar as well, taking Yeshua (Jesus) as the Light of the World. A small, ever-burning lantern to represent His eternal presence. So too in my painting it is a tiny reminder of His presence amid all of the desolation and bitter cold. A brilliant appeal to draw near.

Indeed it seemed an overture to something more beautiful. This scene struck me as an invitation to build again, to refortify my studio practice and reinforce my creative endeavor. Remember, this was one of two pieces that came out of a personal challenge to get into the studio every day of February 2020, so once this image came to mind I began to feverishly scribble iterations of this scene in my sketchbook. After [more than] a few thumbnail sketches and value drawings, I had my composition. Deliberating over materials and processes to realize my vision was reinvigorating down to the marrow! I felt like an artist again. I felt like my efforts and my work had purpose.

A Hidden Place

Almond Branch, What do you See? 15”x24” oil on primed paper, 2020

This painting…this painting came to me right at the start of the lockdowns in 2020. I was in the midst of a studio challenge I’d set for myself to be in my studio daily for an entire month, so I was also on the hunt for inspiring music to accompany my task, when I discovered James Newton Howard’s original score for “A Hidden Life”. Once again I found myself overcome by the beauty of a musical score for another Terrence Malick film. I should have known that something was going to swell within me.

It was only a few tracks in when I noticed the title “Surrounded by Walls” and an image seized my attention. The shutdown was all too fresh across the globe as well, but I didn’t feel shut in. I knew this was going to be a real chance for me, even catalyzing my studio challenge goal, to focus on my creative space within my own walls. What could have easily felt like a prison instead became my secret place.

The first image that came to mind was one of hope and I’d built upon that first imagination, but I knew it needed to grow into something more full. I knew that I needed to explore this idea more deeply, to investigate the details of this inspiration. In that same few days of iteration in my sketchbook, exploring a picture of hope, the verse Jeremiah 1:11 came to mind…and that’s when I knew what I needed to paint: clinging to hope in a desolate place. And I knew I needed to incorporate that particular imagery into the piece, especially as that verse contains a beautiful play on words. That’s when my approach to this piece became more measured and methodical, and not simply reactive as is sometimes my wont. This scene required a convincing architecture to bear its substance.

The crucible of this challenge was drawing up all kinds of lessons from my university days, building an enormous stellated dodecahedron with my freshman art classmates - even trying to mathematically map its internal shadows in our drawings - and feeling the weight and power of reality. I also recalled the first lesson in my first oil painting class, building an architectural maquette for still life practice, exploring how light moved through an interior space. I found myself building a model based on my drawings and adding a dedicated light source to find the effect of light I required. I even brought in a small trig to help construct the light play around the almond branch. Working with this structure gave me the liberty to add details as needed, and to create an inhabitable space to encounter hope.

Gathering Thoughts

Cultivate an ever continuous power of observation. Wherever you are, be always ready to make slight notes of postures, groups and incidents. Store up in the mind... a continuous stream of observations from which to make selections later. Above all things get abroad, see the sunlight and everything that is to be seen. -  John Singer Sargent

Inspiration, imagination, and ideation are major competences by which I create my art. But I would be without focus and real confidence in my art-making without the power of observation. I believe this true gift of any creator as it is the ability that equally compliments and enriches the labors of inspiration, imagination, and ideation. 

What’s amazing about it is that as it becomes part of my rituals of art-making I can more capably create my inspired ideas. 

It is through observation that I learn to perceive the majesty in the mundane. I don’t mean “mundane” in the dull humdrum sense but, rather, in the everyday earthly sense. This practice helps me not only to see incredibly beautiful instances and things that are often overlooked (which itself is a noble method), but it empowers me to discern the very nature and character of God, the master artist, and all of His attention to detail in everything. It deepens my trust of who He says He is. For me, there is no greater reason to paint those investigations.

Having this real knowledge is incredibly powerful. Studying the nature of light, for instance, is one of my chief concerns in making art. Taking copious notes of how light actually affects a physical space through varying shapes of light and dark, chasing after nuances of reflected light on various surfaces, and capturing the mood within a room are great joys for me. These studies of light in a room facilitate painting a real presence. Without serious observation the depth of emotion, meaning and truth of the beauty beheld is lost. 

As J.M.W. Turner once said, "My business is to paint what I see, not what I know is there."

Developing Greater Flexibility

There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.

- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Is it always the way that when we find some liberty in our lives then Fear rears its hideous strength? A force that wants to keep us entrapped and cowering. The greatest projectionist, fear is. And Fear doesn’t hold back, it doesn’t hold any punches. It does not want any of us to go forward, to grow out of its grasp. 

And that is the perfect response - to get out. To outmaneuver the volley, and not merely by a show of force or even a compulsory tête-à-tête.

Such a deft response to the fear of failure requires a solid foundation and the resolve to press onward. 

It requires flexibility. And I am thankful to have found some versatility in my approach to painting - through further exploring those elements I most appreciate about art-making: deepening my affinity for natural lighting, developing tonality, building atmosphere with layers, and creating a presence in my works. I abided in the crucible of taking risks and making “mistakes” with my artwork. And I embraced the newfound malleability by investing in better tools and materials to help me push my technical and creative bounds. 

And these motivations have only made supple and enriched my endeavor to generate the art I’m most moved and compelled to create. To build a body of work that examines the Majesty in the mundane.

This painting came from my musing of my first winter in McKinney, absorbing the beautifully grey and rainy patches of open land near our home. I used thin washes of paint with a severely limited palette to capture the cold and damp atmosphere enshrouding the dormant trees. 

Realigning my Sight

There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after. - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again

When I stepped into this portion of my journey back in 2017, I thought I knew what the general path - or the outline of that path - was going to be. I thought I knew exactly what kind of painter I was going to be. I am thankful that I hadn’t an inkling of a clue to what was in store. The natural challenges of life arose, and I [eventually] found ways to meet them. Each step forward came in a new season for our little family: in moving to three new homes, bringing  three children into the world, and cultivating better ground for my creative endeavor. 

This endeavor found the most stability and the greatest step forward I’ve experienced in over a decade… right as the world shut down in 2020. My interests began to converge, and I gave myself the space to craft imagery in my head, my sketchbook, and even on new surfaces. I am thankful for this exploration, because it helped me rediscover what interests me and brings me joy. The piece below was the first in my renewed exploration. (Cabin in the winter wood)

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With the potent encouragement of my wife, and the well informed guidance from a dear friend and brother, the journey forward through the wilderness started to look like stepping stones. My dreams and musings became sources of inspiration, and my observations of the world around me became the fuel to see my dreams come to life.

I found the path I was looking for. 

Every Frame a Painting

Have you ever watched a film and thought, “I need to paint that!”? Or, at least, thought that each shot could be a painting?

There are some films that are so wonderfully shot, and each scene masterfully composed, that I, as a a viewer and a painter, am deeply moved to paint it. And it is always a shot of something mundane, too! The compulsion to paint it is a means to comprehend the suggestion of time and space within the frame. Even in copying it, like copying from a master painting, it helps me cultivate my ability to compose. But it always comes from a sense of awe. A sense of a specific time and place, and a wellspring of memories and familiarity.

What’s tricky about that process is finding what exactly it is that moves me about the cinematography. Most of the time, it is the progression of the scene - a collection of frames moving in time. Other times it’s is finding the precise moment where the objects within the frame exemplify the mood best. Again, I’m wrestling with time, or timing perhaps, and I haven’t figured out 4th-dimensional painting yet. There is a prayer in Judaism that helps me mediate the process of time and space, and it begins with “Baruch HaMakom”. It translates to “blessed is G-d” but infers G-d as our place, our place throughout time.

Through my own practice and meditation on this prayer, I’ve found that most paintings are a collection of cinematic frames anyway. Most paintings are an amalgamation of observations - even if it is of the same location, at the same time, day to day - can make for quite the compelling image. One could paint the same spot every day and never paint the same place twice. Conversely, one could paint the same sense of place in a hundred different locations. Painting in a way that suggests this eternality, searching for the majesty in the mundane, brings me back to that sense of awe I find in the very best paintings and films.

"Study without desire spoils the memory, and it retains nothing that it takes in." - Leonardo da Vinci

Filling in the Blanks

“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.” - Paulo Coelho

The great monster. The preposterous taskmaster. The fear of failure, for me, has been the most intrepid beast to slay. It has turned some of my best intentions and plans, and even some of my quietest hopes, into debilitating burdens. At times a great dragon guarding a hoarded treasure that I want (or think I need), at other times a cunning serpent deterring me from exploration of possibilities, or even still the surreptitious parasite to wear me down internally.

What does this creature have to do with filling in the blanks? When I fill in my own margins? I’ve found that my typical assault on the fear of failure is always “more”. More planning and analysis (Where did I go wrong? What should I have done?). More thinking and deliberating (often through obsessively repeated sketches and footnotes). More roundabout action (working on other paintings, scrolling through social to compare my work with others’ work). And when there is an abundance of these patterns, there, too, is a complete void of rest and reflection. Avoiding failure - attempting to avoid failure - only feeds the cycle of being overcome.

By accepting my failures, and dialoguing with those I trust most, I am learning to be resolute in the face of the dragon, to brave the unknown paths despite the serpent’s presence, and to be humble when I am wearied by the parasite. Failure becomes a challenge to meet and to rise above.

From the Ground, Up

"The artist should not only paint what he sees before him, but also what he sees within him. If, however, he sees nothing within him, then he should desist from painting what he sees before him" - Caspar David Friedrich

In the previous post I partially divulged my thoughts on my own creative nature, and from where I derive my fuel to go forward in my artistic endeavors. But knowing is only part of the whole process. Without effective skills to explore and realize such a nature it becomes impotent and withers.

And those skills need a place. They require a means, a set of materials, to produce what I see within and before me. (I might discuss my place in the tension between observation and imagination soon.) And in my studio I have found a maturing procedure that aligns with my theology of making. This process is nothing I’ve invented, but is one passed down from my predecessors and the masters of old.
Simply put, I begin with a ground - a primer - on my painting surface. As of recently, I’ve used an oil-based primer on hardboard panels, which requires sealing my panel surface before applying the ground. This foundation allows me to use my oil paints more effectively from the beginning.

A rather rough drawing in burnt umber over a wiped layer of the same color.

Once the ground is set, I can start covering the prepared surface. And I like to start with a very rudimentary first layer drawing, or imprimatura, to craft my composition and locate my focal point before blocking in my color. (I will add that without a vision, and source material, I fall flat at this point.)

Drawing is crucial at this point. If I do not have a solid drawing I will not have a solid composition, and my painting will suffer. And then I’ll suffer a little bit…. Below is an example of my blocking-in stage; this stage helps me visualize the color, temperature and overall value of the painting. This way of painting requires a few layers of paint to build and magnify the image as a whole. No succeeding layer is [necessarily] better than another, as each one requires the preceding layer.

Blocking in my painting can be exhilarating; however, this skill is far from mature in my studio practice.

It is written that “desire without knowledge is not good….” Through many years of excellent education and brave exploration I’ve found a trustworthy process to help me build paintings that I see before me and within me. And this ritual is one that blesses me even as I work through it, knowing my works from beginning to end.

Until the next step.

The Divine Nature of Creativity

"We must be careful not to exhaust ourselves 'waiting for inspiration' when we could have been working." - Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way

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As long as I can remember, and gleaning from stories before memories formed, I have always made art. I don’t think there has been a time when creating something wasn’t vital to my being - my well being - anyway. And through my years of education, turmoil, sickness, and profound healing I’ve intimately investigated and embraced what being an artist means to me. And it isn’t always - closer to rarely - about grandiose visions and perfectly painted images.

My wife and closest friends can tell you with certainty that if I lapse in creative endeavors, that I become less myself and far less lively and enjoyable company. The inverse, however, is exponentially truer, I think. When I buckle down and focus on creative endeavors, I am more aligned to whom I get to be. To whom, I believe, God made me to be. And it’s in this journey that my making finds it greatest purpose: to delight in the one who made me creative. Whether I am sketching ideas and dreams, building my own studio furniture to further my work, playing with and mixing colors, or painting scenes observed and imagined, I am seeking my Creator.

As a college student in the throws of “finding inspiration”, my dad once exhorted me with this, stating, “Inspire something to be.” I’ve come to embrace, and even treasure, this exploration as the foundation of my creative journey.

The title of this post comes from chapter two in A Theology of Making Art + Faith by Makoto Fujimura. Makoto starts this chapter saying, “…part of experiencing God in our lives is appreciating the importance of our creative intuition and trusting that the Spirit is already at work there, often working in between established zones of culture. Our creative intuition, fused with the work of the Spirit of God, can become the deepest seat of knowledge, from which our making can flow.”

And until those visions and “perfect” paintings escape my head, heart, and hands, may I be found making.

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Here is the wall-mounted easel and palette I built for my studio practice. I can’ wait to build the next iteration.

Little by Little, one travels far.

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Meet Me in the Broken Places, Matt. 6:19-21, 9x12 oil on panel, 2020, SOLD

The painting above was completed on the last morning of the year 2020. Finishing this piece was a relief and a joy, which, I think, is an acceptable way to end any year.
While this painting was my last for the previous year, God willing, it will not be the last image to come from my meditations and meanderings from 2020. There is so much to be shared; may faith, hope, and love abound in all of us.

”I hate darkness. Claude Monet once said that painting in general did not have light enough in it. I agree with him. We painters, however, can never reproduce sunlight as it really is. I can only approach the truth of it.” - Joaquín Sorolla y Bastidas