I'm Eliminating Solvents from Studio

Artists are continually talking about making their studios safer and non-toxic. It makes sense. Why not have a safe working environment if you can do it? 

I have been using surgical gloves for over a year now when I paint. I mainly do it to avoid washing my hands. Clean up is so much easier when you don't have to wash your hands, especially if you often stop while working (answering the phone, going to the restroom, getting coffee, etc.). I grew tired of getting paint on my hands and having to wash them off each time I needed to take a break. Now, I just remove the gloves. Plus, they are safer. Any cuts or scratches on your fingers allow toxins to enter your bloodstream. Why take the chance? If I feel the need to use my fingers, I just remove the gloves. No big deal. 

Solvents have been used for hundreds of years to clean brushes and thin paints. But they are toxic. They also hinder the binding of pigment to the surface and are not the only way to thin paint. There are better alternatives. Eliminating solvents entirely from the studio is not that hard. Solvents are different from some mediums like Liquin or Oleogel. Solvents break down the pigments and hinder adhesion. Mediums like Liquin suspend the pigments in solution and shouldn't interfere with pigments sticking to the surface. Too much solvent will cause problems in adhesion. So eliminating solvents is a good idea unless you really like the effects of using it in underpainting or in other techniques. However, nontoxic mediums now exists that will do the work of solvents, so why not use them?

What about cleaning brushes? I have recently followed the advice of many artists: I no longer clean my brushes at the end of each working session. I simply suspend them in safflower oil. I also use safflower oil to clean the brushes while working. I use Rublev Oleogel and linseed oil as mediums to help me work the paint. I no longer use OMS like Gamsol while I work. 

For now, this seems to be working for me. I like having a solvent-free environment. If we carefully dispose of our toxic wastes and protect ourselves from toxins while we work, we should be hedging our bets against harmful health issues. 

The Head versus the Heart

In a recent discussion online with another artist about color theory, I was promoting the idea that two kinds of artists exists: those who love the scientific and technological side of the work, and those who do not. Some artists are scientists in disguise. They love to talk about pigments and mediums and theories of color and composition in scientific, logical terms like a CSI unit looking at a crime scene.

On the other hand, many artists are not scientifically inclined at all. They are more practical in their use of materials, and just want to learn enough to get the job done. They don't read books on color theory or delve into the chemical composition of a tube of Rublev Oleogel. They want tools that work and don't give much of a damn of how it works. "Just show me what works," they say.

What I'm writing about here is the head and the heart. In my discussion with this artist about color theory, I was promoting a balancing act between the science of art and the spirit of art. Both are important. The head and heart need to be in balance, I believe. But if I had to choose one over the other, give me the heart.

This artist writes, "There is no real separation between head and heart since, in reality, it is all head. The rest is illusion." I disagreed.

My response.  "The real issue is that much of the contemporary art world doesn't give a damn about skill, technique, or about the issues you and I are discussing. Look at the crap that is selling these days. We should talk about color theory and helping students develop skills, and it is right. But we also must face the reality of the current art market and its de-emphasis on skill-based work. Skill and technique will only get you so far. But show some heart, some backstory, some personal narrative, some personal slant on your point of view, and the market eats it up."

It is an old debate, the role of the head and heart in making art. Is it all "head"? Is our heart really a product of the brain and its activity? Is the "heart" an illusion? Should we talk in terms of the head and heart being separated? I don't know. I'm not that smart.

Organizing My Brain: Planning a Work Day That Makes Sense (To Me)

Being self-employed is great, but it certainly has risks. One of the biggest hurdles to overcome is planning a day of work. With most jobs we know what our day looks like: arrive at 9 a.m., have coffee, say "hi" to the boss, do our work, have lunch, do our work, go home at 5 p.m. However, being responsible for my own schedule, I risk going through the day doing nothing.

As an artist and writer, I am responsible for my work schedule. Being unique and quirky in my own way, I must find a way to schedule a work day that fits me, makes sense to me. We are different. What works for me may not work for you. The goal is to find a schedule that works for me and then stick to it.

As both a writer and artist, I have two jobs. I must paint, I must write. While both are creative endeavors that have much in common, they are also quite different. Painting and creating visual art is both physically and mentally draining. After a long session at the easel, I am physically tired and mentally drained. Writing, however, tends to make me mentally alert and drained without the physical pain. After writing for a few hours, I often feel the need to do something physically active, like riding my bike or taking a walk. After painting in the studio, all I want to do is rest.

I am faced with scheduling a work day that needs to address my uniqueness, the way that I like to work. For now, I am trying this: I am splitting my day into two parts. I reserve my mornings for writing and reading and research. After lunch I paint, draw, create in the studio.  I am finding that if I keep my two jobs separate, art and writing, I have a better chance of staying on track.

My writing workplace is often this coffee shop.
Today, the scene is pretty hectic, being Friday.

For the longest time I was approaching my work day like a day off. That is, I had no real plan or idea of what I was going to do that day. I would write when I felt like it, then paint. I might go through a day and not paint at all. I might go three days without writing and just paint. While this might be a fun way to work, it can be counterproductive. I have goals to reach and a business to run. I cannot afford to just work when I feel like it. I have two jobs, both very demanding and both requiring discipline. I have to paint and write each day, even if I don't feel like it. I have to remind myself that I have two jobs, not hobbies.

When deadlines call for more attention to a particular project, then I make adjustments. But I still need to pay attention to both jobs and not neglect one, because of the work required for the other. For example, I have an art fair on my calendar in two weeks. The temptation will be to focus on preparing for the fair and neglect my writing. But this is a problem. I might need to cut back on my writing schedule, but I must not neglect it. I still need to write, even if its just for a few minutes.

I have never liked working for someone else. Being self-employed is a choice I made and I know it has risks. Scheduling my work day is a continuous struggle. Switching gears between art and writing is not easy, but necessary. I have two jobs that both require my attention. Organizing my scattered brain is a constant problem, but I'm trying my best to make it work.

Online Print Houses

I have been looking at online print houses to order high quality posters of my digital art, and it's not easy. I first went to Mpix.com and ordered a 24x36 full color poster. I receive it yesterday and was disappointed. Their "low weight paper" is just awful. They offer no other papers. My total cost was $37, which included basic shipping. The low quality paper is just a deal-breaker. I will not use Mpix for my poster prints.

The next site I visited was PosterPrintShop.com. I ordered today a 30x30 customized poster with a high gloss finish. Total cost to me was $43, including shipping. I am hoping the quality of the paper stock is much better. Once I receive it, I'll let you know what I think. I am impressed at the easy user-friendly interface this site has to offer. It was a quick and easy matter to upload my image, crop, and place the order. They test the quality of your image and give you an idea of how large a print is best, given the size and quality of your image. I have found that an image of at least 2400pix is necessary for a 30 inch print.

I also visited FineArtAmerica.com. For quality poster prints, this site is also limited and I was unable to crop my uploaded image on the site. They only offer standard sizes and one kind of paper. So far, this site doesn't seem to be what I'm looking for.

I went to VistaPrint.com and ordered a 24x36 glossy poster. I will be eager to see the quality of this one, too. Total cost was $42, including shipping. They only offer standard sizes, and card stock is only available for an 11x17. They do have a useful cropping/editing interface that is helpful.

These are the images I am using as test cases for posters. I am developing a series of digital prints to sell as posters, if I can just find a good price for a quality print on a paper stock that is better than a roll of toilet tissue.

Hi Girls, Miss Me?

Writing a screenplay can be as fun as painting a picture. While distinct similarities exists between the two, my brain seems to be working from a different place while I'm writing dialogue. In both cases I'm painting a picture. I'm using words to paint dialogue, hoping to find some rhythm and texture just as I would when applying oils to a canvas. But the process, the brain activity, seems to be different. I cannot explain it. I'm not a brain specialist. I love doing both, writing and painting, and they are great compliments to one another. Both are creative practices, apparently exercising different parts of the brain.

Below is an excerpt from a screenplay I'm writing. It is fun to do this kind of thing after a week of painting in the studio. It's all about expressing what it means to be human.

(Excerpt from a current screenplay...)

INT. LAUREL GROVE HIGH SCHOOL, BOY’S RESTROOM, DAY

Brando is staring into the mirror of the restroom. He has a bloody nose.

SAM

                          You okay? Your nose looks crooked.

BRANDO

                           It hurts like shit. But I’ll survive. That prick was lucky. I didn’t see him.

SAM

                          Why do you put up with it? Why don’t you beat his ass?

BRANDO

                          He’s the size of a buffalo. I wouldn’t have a chance. He would break more than my      
                          nose.

SAM

                          If you don’t do something he’ll keep it up. I’ve been picked on my whole life. I’ve
                          gotten used to it. But you. You can do something about it. Your dad’s the sheriff for
                          God’s sake!

BRANDO

                          So...you want me to run to daddy. Is that it? I’d rather get beat up.

SAM

                          Your Dad would throw him in jail.

BRANDO

                          But then what? I’d look like an idiot. Running to Dad to fix my problems. My dad        
                          already thinks I’m a pussy.

At that moment the bathroom door opens and Satchel walks in. He’s tall, well-built, but still has baby fat around the waist and chin. His hair is long and messy, like he just got out of bed. He’s laughing to himself. He notices Sam and Brando in front of the sink and mirror. They both turn as he walks in.

SATCHEL

                          Hi, girls. Miss me?

Last Week of Class at AAU

It's been fun, but the long road to a master's degree in fine art at the Academy of Art in San Francisco is coming to a dead end this week. My last Group Directed Study class with Jacob Dhein and other grad students at the Chestnut location was yesterday. All of us were tired and ready for the semester to end. We were told to bring three paintings for a final critique, but I just couldn't do it. Instead I chose to bring one painting and a study from a Malcolm Liepke painting.

My copy of a Malcolm Liepke painting.

"I'm just so tired at looking at these paintings," I said. "You all have seen them. I've done nothing to them since the last time you saw them." It seemed like overkill to bring the same final thesis paintings for another "final critique" to this class. I had shown the same paintings the week before in my Final Thesis critique.

 I told my class and Jacob, "At some point. you just have to move on."

The process was weird, the steps I went through the final weeks before graduation. The commencement ceremony came first (I did not attend), followed by a Final Thesis critique. Then another final critique in GDS class yesterday. Tomorrow I have one last class in Professional Practices before I'm done.

So, for my final class in Group Directed Study I brought  in one painting, "The Priest." I also brought in a study I have been working on, a copy of a painting by Malcolm Liepke.

"The Priest", 30x30, oil on canvas. Made the visit to my last GDS class for a  "final critique."

Writing Screenplays and Painting Pictures: Two Sides of the Same Coin

The more I write screenplays, the more I see similarities to painting pictures. For me, the creative coin has two sides: I love writing stories and I love painting pictures.  It is all about creating something from nothing. Writers begin with a blank page. For painters, there is always the blank canvas staring you down.

In a recent interview with the director Daniel Stamm (visit AikenWriter.com for my notes), I took notes about the creative process in making films. I quickly realized that making films and writing screenplays are similar to painting. It all boils down to the creative process.

Here are some examples.

1.  Engage the audience in a story that is unfamiliar. Stamm is looking for scripts that deal with unfamiliar territory. Painters are looking for the same thing. Screenplays are paintings. The writer uses words instead of oils. A screenplay should paint a story in words. Both writers and painters want to engage the viewer, and hopefully show them something they have never seen. 


2.  If you can’t deal with failure you won’t have a career. This is true for anyone in the arts. Failure is the norm. Failure is the air we breathe. Rejection is our biggest fan. Failure is inherent in the creative process. Only God creates perfection out of chaos. For us mortals, it's a lot harder. Success is in the doing, the process, the work. 

3.  A lack of confidence in what you are doing is inherent in the creative process.  Stamm talks about meeting with producers, the money people, trying to convince them he has the confidence to make a certain film. It is con game. In reality he has no clue. To get the money, you have to sell people on your clear vision and have confidence in your talent. Painters are no different. 

When I begin a new painting, I don't have a clue how it is going to turn out. Will it be a total failure? Maybe. Probably. Most likely my painting won't be a masterpiece. However,  I must show confidence in my ability or no one will give a damn. If I think I'm a lousy artist, and say that to a potential patron, then you can see the problem. If I don't believe in myself, then who will? It is okay to lack confidence in your work. 'Not-knowing" is inherent in the creative process. We learn by doing, through trial and error. Just don't let those with the money see you sweat. 

4. You Can't Make Everyone Happy.  Stamm talks about negative comments about his films being a good thing, just as long as they are widespread, covering a variety of issues. The problem comes when all the negativity is about the same issue. My paintings will always suck, to someone. That is the reality. If I could arrange for ten art critics to look at my work, I would make a list of their comments. Are they all about the same issue? ("God, that composition really sucks") Or do their negative comments vary from one issue to another. Perhaps one critic hates the composition, one hates the color, one hates the subject matter, and one just hates the whole thing. It is a good sign if ten critics hate ten different things about my work. On the other hand, if eight of the ten really hate my brushwork, then I might have a problem. 

The eleven paintings for my Final Thesis Review.

In a couple of weeks, I'll have my chance with a room full of critics: three instructors will be attending my Final Thesis review for a critique. I will show them eleven paintings. I will take notes of their negative and positive comments. How much will they agree on certain issues? The best case scenario for me: they won't agree on anything. 

5. Being alone with your inner critic can suffocate creativity.  Like writing, painting is lonely work. We work by ourselves, isolated from the world in our studios like monks. I'm referring to an honest-to-God-artist, not those scam artists like Jeff Coons, Damien Hirst or Maurizio Cattelan. The voice we often hear comes from the inner critic telling us we suck. Somehow we need to silence the inner critic and just keep working.