From Watercolor to Gouache

It’s time to change technique.

For the last two years, I’ve been working in watercolor, and that gave me a chance to develop a good grip on this technique. I chose watercolor because I wanted to express lightness, fluidity, and transparency. It has worked well. 

Since I am aiming to expand my vision now, and to start painting on canvases again, I need to bring a wider range of expression, from translucence to thickness. So I need to change technique, at least for now.

Technique is a bit like a language, I think. When you speak a certain language, you don’t say things quite the same way as in another. Words sound differently, and expressions offer a different meaning: the music is not quite the same. So going from one to the other enriches your understanding of both.

That’s why I am doing sketches in gouache now. I am switching languages to broaden my mind. Gouache is water-based, just like watercolor, except it has more pigment and less arabic gum (arabic gum is the medium that holds the pigments). That makes it opaque, which allows for superposition of colors, light on dark or dark on light. When diluted it can become transparent, though not as finely as watercolor. That gives me a good range to work in, technically. And since you can easily correct a mistake by going over it, it is very forgiving, which is great for studies.

                                                                                            

Here’s an example of gouache (left) and watercolor (right). Same color, not the same impact. Gouache has solidity, yet smoothness in it and you can superimpose other colors, light or dark. Watercolor is subtler, and every layer color adds to the other, so you have to be careful not to overdo it, otherwise the colors become muddy.

 

 

 

 

In this sketch (right), I am sorting out ideas for painting. Color ideas, like the red tree against the blue sky. Space ideas, as in the scale of the tree and the house in the distance.

Composition ideas and technique ideas: I kept some parts diluted so as to have transparency in some areas, as you can see in the purple trees on the lower right. 

There’s a lot to figure out, and so an easier technique like gouache allows me to mess around before I take this or another idea to a bigger scale on canvas. So I’ll keep at it for a while, let’s see what will happen.

 Louise Jalbert, “Red Tree with Blue Sky”, 2017, Gouache on paper, 12 x 9 inches

Sifting Through Inspiration

Sifting through inspiration.

I am now back in the studio. Traveling has been rejuvenating, as always. Going back to France and Paris where I lived and studied, where I have good friends, has been…well, a moveable feast, as Hemingway wrote. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Moveable_Feast 

My head is filled with images and my mind brimming with ideas. Sifting through them, I keep coming back to certain ideas that had actually been gestating for a while, even before my departure. Some of those I shared with you, as in my last two posts about spaces and people in museums. 

I want to explore the idea of space a little bit more now: space in the representation of nature, and people in spaces. I am curious to see how color can express form and depth in a composition, how forms in nature relate to each other and indicate space, and how people become visually part of the space they are in.  

Since I hadn’t done any portraits for a while, I was itching to do so, and I started with a small portrait of a fellow attendee of our Mastermind from Seth Godin’s Marketing Seminar, Shelley Graner.
http://www.shelleygraner.com
https://themarketingseminar.com

It’s always best to draw or paint from life, I think.  For one thing, the space is real and deeper than a photograph. For another, time and movement add life to it, which a photograph can’t because it is fixed in time and a lens does not move constantly like our eyes do. But today, I merely wanted to get going, and since I had no model on hand, I was inspired by a caption in a video. 

The image was small and blurry, which suited me for this sketch. I am not looking for accurate portraiture, rather for an evocation of a presence, or a moment. On the video, Shelley appeared in sepia tones and we joked about her looking like a Rembrandt portrait. I did not manage the Rembrandt effect so well but the exercise was fun.

I did it with gouache because it is a water based paint that allows for quick sketches, and has a body that resembles acrylic or oil paint. It has solidity and I am looking for that now.

So there’s a start. Let’s see where this take me.

Louise Jalbert, “Shelley”, 2017, Gouache on paper, 3.5 x 3 inches

Spaces

How do you convey space in an image?

That could be a whole book in itself, and a lifelong quest for a painter. English artist David Hockney, now in his early 80s, has done several bodies of work and written abundantly about that idea.
http://www.davidhockney.co

I went to visit his retrospective, retracing some 60 years of his work, at the George Pompidou Center in Paris. l enjoy Hockney’s pragmatic, yet whimsical attitude about art, and his amazing skills as an artist.

Many of the paintings on display were of a large scale, and in this vast, industrial architecture, they hold their ground with aplomb. His pictures are carefully organized, the colors are bold, almost harsh at times: together they make a strong statement. Wit and self-assertiveness seem to permeate them.

There was a big crowd, and people tended to cluster in front of the pictures.That made for interesting group compositions, as the scale of the people and spaces depicted in the paintings were often close to reality. Their being close to or removed from the art also indicates a sense of scale. Even the colors they wear can accent and coordinate with the artwork.

I played with the idea of composing an image that stemmed from the painting, extending outside with the visitors and space of the room where it is hanged.

In the photo above, the dark and light shapes of the visitors’s clothes integrate perfectly with those of the painting. Even the figure on the left becomes part of it. It’s amusing to wonder who is looking at whom…with his usual sense of humor, I am sure Hockney thought about this. 

There are several spaces represented here: That of the museum itself, where the visitors stand, the flat space of the canvas, the pictured living room in the painting, with the people, cat and objects, then the space beyond the window, where the light comes from; and finally, the space in the small picture on the upper left. You can play a lot with the concept of space in a picture.

Since I take the pictures very quickly, sometimes there is not time to get closer, so I have to zoom. That brings a pixelization of the image that has a very painterly effect, as in the picture above. The artwork and the visitors are unified into a similar pattern, which makes the face of the woman facing us appear to be part of the painting behind her, especially since she is framed by a rectangle just as the standing figure in profile. Thus, the space between her and the painting is dissolved. They become another image.

I bet David Hockney would find the idea interesting.

 

Paintings by David Hockney: “Portrait of an Artist ( Pool with two figures)” 1972, acrylic on canvas, “Mr. and Mrs Clark and Percy”, 1970, acrylic on canvas, American Collectors ( Fred and Marcia Weisman, 1968, acrylic on canvas.
Louise Jalbert, photos taken at David Hockney’s retrospective, Centre George Pompidou, September 2017.

Muses in Museums

I am in Paris now, back in the city where I lived and studied in my twenties. It was in this city that I became a painter. This is where I developed my knowledge of art, and started to shape my artistic vision. 

Part of that evolution happened in museums, while visiting exhibitions and doing color studies in those often grand spaces.

I have grown a deep affection for the quietness and serenity of museums, whether they are small and regional or palaces such as the Louvre. Although I will visit important exhibitions that are of interest, I prefer permanent exhibitions that allow the visitor to wander and ponder at ease.

       Such a place is the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris. A place of serene contemplation is exactly what Monet had intended for his Nymphéas, his last and hugely impressive body of work, all done before, during and after World War I. ( http://www.musee-orangerie.fr/en/article/claude-monets-water-lilies ).

Two oval rooms display the huge panels that surround you as if in nature, where you enter after a small entrance helps you transition from the hustle and bustle of the city. I love this contrast. 

     

 

I have started to look at people in museums as much as the art that is displayed. I find there is a visual interest in the way their often dark shapes, opposed to the lit and bright art, seem to become one. This becomes another composition by itself.

 

 

When in museums, people become quiet and contemplative. They look, ponder, interrogate the art in front of them as if in silent conversation. What fascinates me is how they become absorbed in observation, and how they seem to merge into the art.

The setting, the ambiance, the pose and sheer coincidence bring a unique opportunity to photograph a fleeting moment, a painting come to life. A few seconds of magic before the spell is broken.

What fascinates me is the combination of color and space, light and dark, how the figures of the visitors become visually connected to the art they are looking at, and how their attitude tells of their inward reflection.This becomes another composition by itself.

Art, at least certainly mine, is often about this: to catch a moment of beauty and make it visible. Thus, I have found muses in museums.

Claude Monet, The Water Lilies: Clear Morning with Willows, The Clouds, Tree Reflections, Morning, 1890-1926, Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris, France,
Louise Jalbert, Photos prises au musée de l’Orangerie, Paris, septembre 2017

Cézanne’s Studio

 I had been thinking of visiting Paul Cézanne’s studio for a long time. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Cézanne 

Visiting an artist’s working place is always an intimate experience, but when it is the studio of a visionary who had an impact on generations of painters, it is also very moving.

Paul Cézanne’s life-long research in painting, his determination to find his own artistic vision is impressive. This was a man very rooted in his native Provence, who had gone to Paris, (as every painter did then), in order to establish his career. However, neither him nor his vision fitted in the city’s sophisticated society. He came back with a resolution to “astonish Paris with a few apples”, meaning to bring about a new vision of painting that would reveal the structural basic volumes of things and beings, be it apples, landscapes, or even the human figure. Cézanne was reacting to the Impressionnist’s ephemeral depiction of nature. He wanted to express more than light and color, he wanted to reveal the very essence of things.
And astonish Paris he did, though very quietly during his lifetime, being slowly noticed near the end of his life by a few young painters in search of a fresh vision. His art influenced generations of painters, primarily the generation after him, namely Picasso and Braque, in their cubist period, Matisse and Léger, among others.

Cézanne built this studio in 1900, only 6 years before passing away. He designed it so he could control the light and heat from the intense sun, with the large window opening to the north, the smaller windows facing south with shutters.

The view to the north was of a hill facing mont Sainte-Victoire, the view to the south towards Aix-en-Provence. Trees and construction have since obstructed those original views.

At the right of the big window, there is an opening in the wall: this was to allow the painter to slide big works like his « Baigneuses » outside, so he could look at it in daylight, his gardener/model holding it for him.

Here is why, in his own words: “When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art.”

 

 So how did it feel for me to be there? Understated and moving. Understated because nothing has changed since Cézanne died of pneumonia on October 20th, 1906. Nothing was added to make his studio appealing, and nothing was touched, not even his hats and coats on the hangers. Even the paint on the wall is the same.

Moving because one can feel his spirit, almost grasp his struggle with the objects that composed his world, a mixture of dusty artist materials – the paint, brushes, vases, tablecloth, images and books that inspired him.
Nothing has changed except for the fresh apples bringing a fragrance to the place…

 

…And the young lady who guided us in that very 19th century setting, now absorbed in a very 21st century occupation.

Louise Jalbert, photos prises à l’atelier de Paul Cézanne, Aix-en-Provence, septembre 2017

Good Company

“Keep Good Company, that is, go to the Louvre”.

This quote is from 19th Century French painter Paul Cézanne. A man of few words who preferred the (then) remoteness of his native Provence to the glamour of Paris.
What he was referring to is this: Be careful of who you are dealing with, choose your environment and influences. Don’t waste your time and study with the masters.

Which is exactly my ambition while I am travelling in France, this week in Provence, near Aix-en-Provence where the old master was born and lived most of his life. Walking in the country side, looking at the pine and olive trees, basking in this radiant light, I feel as if I am walking in his steps, and could join him on a painting expedition. Which he would have refused, being fiercely protective of his solitude.

But I am keeping good company nevertheless, first with good friends who are sharing their passion for Provence, and I will be visiting Cézanne’s studio later this week. Having studied his life and work, it will be a moving experience to witness where it all took place. 

Meanwhile, I am drawing, the best way I know of getting acquainted with new surroundings

.   
Louise Jalbert, Sophie’s Olive Tree, 2017, felt-marker on paper, 9 x 12 inches, and  photos of the countryside around Saint-Saturnin-lès-Apt, north of Aix-en-Provence, September 2017

Septembre

I’ve written septembre in French to cast a spell on you.
 
 The spell of a foreign word spoken softly. A simple word, a song or a color, and voilà!  You are moved. Transported from a cold rainy day into the land of poets. Your shriveled heart enraptured into voluptous intimacy, eager to pour into another heart. It happens instantly, deep within us, because art, music and language have the power to transport us.
 
Can you say septembre ?
Listen to Camélia Jordana as she sings this song from iconic French singer and composer Barbara, with Alexandre Tharaud at the piano.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-8izi-sq5w 
This is what I would call grand simplicity. Simple in form, masterly in craft, magnificent with emotion.

Carrying you away. 

Louise Jalbert, “Feuillage illuminé, septembre”, 2017, Aquarelle sur papier, 28 x 37 cm

A sense of adventure

It’s good to be back in the studio with a regular schedule. It grounds me as I reconnect with my art and with life.

It’s been an interesting summer. Completing Seth Godin’s Marketing Seminar is an accomplishment of which I’m proud and happy. It has meant less time for creating art, but it has been a transformative experience and the rewards are important: A new mindset for marketing, invaluable learning, and meeting some brave, generous and insightful people.

One of the above is fellow artist, Francesca Saveri. On her latest blog, Francesca writes eloquently about the creative process in “How I know when it’s done”, noting “an exhaustion of emotion” can lead to new creations.

Something similar may be happening for me, as I am picking up speed in the studio, though not gaining momentum yet. My vision of tapestry is there, only at times I feel as if I’m not fully grasping it. Or worse, not fully feeling it.

Perhaps it only needs more time and work; maybe I need to risk some changes. The next weeks will be revealing. I do have time, a technique with which I’m well-acquainted and my favorite subjects are glowing in a gorgeous summer light. What more could I want?

A sense of adventure

That sense is not entirely there right now. Not yet. It’s ironic and uncomfortable but I believe it’s a good sign: Something is brewing. I can see it in the above image: there is assertiveness in it, as well as a some probing. An interesting combination that speaks of the process.

How long will this fermentation take? What ingredient should I add or subtract, if any? Curiosity comes to mind. What happens if I do this? What happens if try that? That’s all it takes for now, and thus I am ploughing on, eager to discover what the process yields in this awaited adventure.

Louise Jalbert, Premières couleurs d’automne, aout 2017, aquarelle sur papier, 28 x 37 cm

Tapestry

Tapestry is the word that keeps coming up when I want to say how I see the natural world. Everything is woven together.

Leaves steaming from the branches, trees rooted in the soil, the birds singing and insects crawling, light playing through the leaves – it is all a tapestry of beauty, extending even to the moon as it passed in front of the sun, casting its shadow on the earth during our solar eclipse this week. Such a subtle perception is not always easy to convey, but this work above expresses it well, I think. Whatever I develop in the next few months, tapestry will be at the core of my art.

During the last few weeks, the dialogue we have started has rooted itself in my practice. Your attentive presence has given me new impulses to create with more spontaneity, while digging deeper into meaning. Together, we are weaving a new tapestry.

Louise Jalbert, “Illuminated Foliage, septembre 2015”, Watercolor on paper, 11 x 15 inches

Surroundings

Some places speak to us more than others.

Last week I traveled to the west coast for a memorable few days, memorable because I had the pleasure of staying with a wonderful couple, Cynthia and Mark. Cynthia befriended me several years ago, having read a children’s book I wrote, The Radish and the Shoe. We were meeting for the first time in “real” life, as she and her husband Mark had generously invited me to stay with them in their home near Seattle.

Their house is on a hill, surrounded by very tall trees that were quite impressive to my northeast Canadian eyes.The trees evoke a shelter, a living, breathing shelter of green leaves and pine needles, a whispering, fragrant wall patterned with branches, spots of blue sky, and shining sun.

I felt at home immediately. Inside, large windows let the light and the view in, while the space conveyed an intimate and comfortable feeling. Mark and Cynthia are mental health professionals. Their life-long interest in the human mind and soul, their love of books, art, music, and world culture permeates the place. Their home is a careful, thoughtful display of objects and natural elements chosen for their meaning, whether symbolic, sentimental, emotional, or merely whimsical.

Individually these selected objects tell a story. Together, they create an ensemble that gave me, as a guest, the comforting impression of being in a place of cherished intelligence, where care is taken to look, listen, taste, understand and love. Wouldn’t it speak to you?

Louise Jalbert, Living Room Looking into the Trees, 2017, Watercolor on paper, 9 x 12 inches