Mountain ridges, the background

Having completed the foreground and middle ground of my classical landscape, I am set for putting in the last player, namely, the background of the landscape.  I am also keenly aware that I still need to fulfill the "height perspective" of a classical landscape.  I need to have something soaring into the heavens.

For this exercise, I am sticking with a safe and seasoned player; mountain ridges.

Mountain ridges, or tops are common and standard features in a classical landscape painting.  In Chinese painting we will typically see a succession of hilltops, forming a mountain range.  I have alluded to this style of interpretation before, equating that to slicing up a potato into many pieces; each piece represents one vertical slice of the mountain.  When we arrange these slices of varying shape and height like pieces of domino tiles, we get to reconstruct the shape and volume of the mountain.

The picture below shows cardboard slices of a "mountain" that I used to help my students visualize a mountain when I was teaching landscape painting.

For my particular painting, I am using these slices from my inventory of shapes for my mountain,

This helps a person to visualize my mountain; my mannequin so to speak.

Typically I would lay down the contour lines of each "slice" of the mountain first.  For this painting however, I just pencil in the approximate position of the mountain and just splash down my individual slices, believing that this would result in a less rigid form.

After the paper dries to touch, I write in the contour lines of the individual slices.

And garnish my slopes with hemp fiber chuen, a technique used to add texture and further describe the topographic details of the landscape.

Shading helps to define the three dimensional structure of the mountain.

The top of these ridges are garnished with hints of shrubs and trees to add interest.

These decorative brushstrokes also serve the function of diverting the viewer's attention from the top dead center of the ridges.  In my haste of laying down the individual slices of the mountain, I committed the sin of lining up the apexes of the tops, forming a straight line towards the top.  By planting my shrubs and trees on some of the flanks of the mountain helps to create an illusion that the ridge tops form a curved and crooked line, which is more interesting and natural.  

Keeping in mind the requirement for depth perspective, which is to narrate a story or association of front and back, I am building a few simple shacks in this background.  

Thus it is plausible now, that people from these humble dwellings could perhaps visit the Ci En Pagoda, the waterfall, and walk alongside the path that sits at the bottom of a straight cliff with a platform on top, trek through the mixed woods and finally arriving at the temple in the foreground.  I trust this should satisfy the depth perspective.

To jazz up my "classical" landscape, I am going to emulate Zhang Daqian by brushing in some bold phthalocyanine blue.  Legend has it that Zhang would use a bowl to splash this bold and vivid color onto a huge painting painted on a enormous sheet of silk brocade, and his apprentices would help him lift the brocade to direct the liquid to flow to the strategic parts of the painting on that piece of silk cloth. 

I might be rushing things a little but I am eager to see what the final dimensions would be after cropping and mounting my painting.  I still have no idea whether I shall frame this painting the conventional way or mount it on canvas or board and then build a frame to house it. 

Ci En Pagoda, the middle ground

Picking up from where I left off from the last session, I am filling in the empty spaces of the foreground, framing the temple structure in the process.

I am assigning different kinds of leaves to the shrubs and trees.  This is a rather typical way of depicting mixed woods as illustrated in the Mustard Seed Garden manual.  

This being the foreground, the brushstrokes are more delicate and mired in details.  The space is now filled with an assortment of vegetation.  It looks busy but not stuffy.  There is still a leisurely feel to it.  I am keeping the trunks as void spaces, to add contrast and style to the composition.  

Before I get myself into too much trouble, I have decided to move onto describing the middle ground, with the Ci En Pagoda as the focal point.  I am including the customary boulders along the shoreline, and I am adding steps path next to the pagoda, as a means of hinting at someplace beyond the paper, hidden in the depths of the hills.  Again, this is done with the intention of satisfying the depth perception of a "classical" landscape painting, trying to account for a story that goes from the front of the painting to the rear of the painting.  

The pagoda is colored in using the photo as a reference.  A reflection of the pagoda is painted in the water.  I just couldn't resist that.

A waterfall is added as an afterthought.  The location of the waterfall is not ideal, since I had not planned for it.  I am having difficulty visualizing the source of the fall.

I shall leave some voids above the waterfall.  One can interpret that as misty cloud, or a snow patch, or whatever.  Perhaps there is a gulley up there where a hidden stream that feeds the waterfall flows.  It helps to conceal some of the details of the mountain.  I am letting the viewers to engage their own imagination.

Trees are planted in all the low areas of the landscape, where water would gravitate.  This being farther away from the viewer, I can get away with not panting individual leaves or branches.  I shall use the silhouettes of trees o narrate the scene.  

I could stop right here and call that a finished painting.  The color and hue is not quite as bold and awkward now that the paper has dried.  It certainly has matured into a painting.  But, that is not what I set out to do.  I still need to deal with the background.  For now, I shall take a break.  

Attempting a classical landscape painting

I kind of missed my yellow mountain piece after I toyed with it by adding a rising sun.  Perhaps I should settle down and work on another landscape painting; one that is more "classical".

Of course that is just me mumbling to myself.  I am not sure I fully understand the word "classical".  Can I reduce it to the simplest term, something that reminds me of the past?

I am reminded of the days when I was a student of Chinese brush painting and the hours spent in repeating and emulating everything that was in Mustard Seed Garden, hoping to my my work look "authentic" by being "classical".  Aside from the different brush techniques, I also learned the doctrines in classical landscape paintings, and one of those deals with perspective.  Scattered focal point is one thing, but more interestingly is the 3 perspective in the composition.  I am not referring to anything remotely related to say the vanishing point perspective.  Specifically the perspectives that govern landscape painting are the height perspective, the depth perspective and the level perspective.

Height perspective is as it suggests, the perspective of dealing with height, how the viewer is to perceive altitude.  Hence the peaks have to be soaring, and cliffs precipitous. The so called "level" perspective is actually what we would construe as the depth perspective; how to distinguish near objects from objects that are farther away.  Our depth perspective actually describes what goes on from near to far.  In other words, the painting needs to show not only the relative distance between objects, but how these objects are linked.  By placing person pushing a cart on a trail around a bend going behind a hill is a good example of our "depth perspective".  The artist fabricates an event or story line that directs the viewer's attention from foreground to background.   I personally deem this the most unique thing about "classical" landscape painting. 

Certain requisite features are often present in a "classical" landscape.  One will almost always find boulders, hills, mountains, streams, water, mist, waterfall, outcrops dotting the scenery.  From there one sometimes can see incidentals like shacks, vessels, foot bridges, animals etc.  A flat platform is sometimes included to add interest.  I was taught dots form lines, and lines form planes. So the ability to describe a plane, often sitting on top of a precipitous is one way to showcase the artist's proficiency.  This is no different from a pianist or violinist demonstrating their virtuosity when playing the cadenza during a concerto.   

Yes, there are indeed a lot of things to look for when enjoying a classical landscape painting.  And yes, it can be quite pedantic.  

I often grabble with the notion of a contemporary painting "classical" landscape because somehow I identify that as the product of rote learning and one is just regurgitating what someone did years ago.  I certainly understand that some of the "classical" landscape is impressionistic and full of symbolism, that the peak is the emperor and  he is adorned by his subjects. Nonetheless I would prefer us contemporary practitioners painting something real and that people can relate to, or moved by, as well as being beautiful.

Having said that, my assignment for myself, my so called "classical" landscape, shall adhere to the things I've learned as a student ( most of it anyways) and still harbor a bit of truth, as in real landmarks?

More aptly, I am borrowing a "classical" setting to house modern day landmarks.

I hark back to my trips to Taiwan, a couple of places in particular, that could fit into my landscape painting.  One of those places is Jiufen ( Jiufen Old Street) and the other is the Sun Moon Lake, where Ci En Pagoda is located.

This is a photo I took of a temple by the bus stop up by Jiufen.

and this is a photo of the Ci En Pagoda at Sun Moon Lake,

A common format of Xuan paper has the 2:1 ratio, the height being twice the width.  So I am loosely following this particular format.  I am painting on the Cicada skin Xuan.  It is more forgiving with my less than stellar techniques.  

I am putting the temple from Jiufen in the foreground, and the Pagoda in the middle ground, and the background shall be a continuation of the mountain range.

I am using the classical ways to paint trees and shrubs, as depicted by the venerable Mustard Seed Garden.  I am leaving a lot of spaces between my different objects.  My intention is to fill in with leaves and dots.  Something impressionistic and spontaneous, to break up the solemnness of a "classic".

I am placing tall trunks on the paper for my trees.  They could be lodge pole pines or firs, but for now they appear more birch-like.  Oh well, that's not important.  I've done such tall trees in my Multnomah Falls paintings, and trees are abundant in the Pacific Northwest, so that's something I can relate to.  For heaven's sake, I was once employed by a plywood mill. 

I have included a flat platform with a trail at the bottom.  I am a good student.  But seriously, that footpath is my adherence to the depth perspective.  The viewer's attention shall, hopefully,  follow that path to somewhere behind the foreground, and attempt to imagine "what's behind that."

Making it real now, coloring the temple, using my photo as reference. 

Thank You Singapore-for my New Dawn

Seeing that my scheme of applying a mask, as if I was working with Photoshop, to my painting could transform my work drastically, I told myself, "Game on, baby!"

I discussed my mischievous intentions with a friend of mine and he accused me of cheating.  

Really?  This had not crossed my mind at all.  Perhaps I had accepted Photoshop as an acceptable post-production in the workflow of taking pictures, and I had embraced the concept of layers and masking.  Perhaps to a purist, this is considered cheating.  I wonder if this is a by-product and necessary evil of digital photography.  Anyways, my conscience is clear.  Novel, perhaps; cheating, no.

My "test subject" is now ready for the experiment.  I am using the same home cooked starch that I use for mounting on paper for this attempt.  I use a soft brush to brush on my rising sun "mask" due to the thin and delicate nature of the cicada skin Xuan.  I really don't want to tear it.

The cicada skin Xuan now sits on top of the starched original painting that was mounted on cement board.  Careful and swift brushing ensures a flat and wrinkle free application.

Newspaper is used to cover the newly starched work and a brush with stiff bristles is pounded on top of the newspaper.  This serves to force a tight bonding of the cicada skin Xuan to the painting underneath and the newspaper also helps to absorb moisture from the wet starch that seeps through the Xuan paper.

This is now allowed to dry at ambient room temperature.  The saturation and transparency will diminish as the drying process continues.

Liquitex gloss medium and varnish is now applied to the dried painting.  The Liquitex helps to restore the brilliancy for the color and acts as a protective coating.  This is especially critical since I will be displaying the work without a glass covering.  I am allowing the liquid to sit on selected spots a while longer before dispersing it to surrounding areas.  The liquid seems to have helped bring out the transparency for the selected areas.

 One can see here how Liquitex brings back the saturation and transparency.

I get the following result after some minor touchups.  This is now allowed to dry.

With matting now,

In the interest of documenting this transformation, I created the following composite,

Nobody likes my newborn baby.  Everybody prefers the third iteration.  They think that is a "real painting" and that it is "prettier".

I, on the other hand, do like the last version very much.  In fact, I would go as far to call that a metamorphosis.  The literal details of the original are distilled to almost a tactile experience.  The sorghum  has fermented.  It is now crude and raw and in your face.  I can feel the sun and its halo of colors.  Or is it my cataract that is clouding up my vision.  I can no longer call my piece a Huangshan sunrise because any discernable landmark is no longer.  It can be universal, wherever trees populate.  Had I not taken the trip to Singapore, I would not have such a revelation. 

So, Thank You Singapore, for my New Dawn.

Sunrise at Huangshan

I recently took a trip to Singapore.  I wanted to experience Lau Pa Sat (old market) and I wasn't disappointed at all.  But that is not the reason for writing this blog.

As I was packed in the middle isle in the back of the belly of a 777, I pretty much had no vantage point of the view outside of the plane.  Well the blinds were all closed anyways so the passengers could spill "Z"s at 40K feet.  So I wasn't missing much. Then one of the passengers sitting by a window raised the window blind.  The cabin was immediately bathed with a streak of reddish amber light, arcing across the walls of the dimmed economy class holding pen, as the plane floats across the thin air.  

The sun was rising.

I stretched my neck and yawed my head, trying to maintain a line of sight to the rising sun outside the window, sidestepping the dark silhouettes of passengers' heads.  I was trying to absorb that image as much as I could.  I know it would be futile for me to take a picture with my phone, I would probably end up with a little amber oval amidst a dark field of heads.  The glow was so encompassing, I felt its presence more than simply seeing it.  

I found my old "run of the mill" piece of Huangshan after I returned home.  A piece that I did years ago, honing my painting skill.  I wanted to revive that painting by making the sun come up from behind those rock formations.

Yes, that encounter with the rising sun from inside a plane had done something to my psyche.  

Normally a painting done on Xuan paper is not meant to be painted over.  Fortunately I was toying with different ways to present paintings done on paper, I mounted my painting on cement board.  I also coated it with a gel medium to protect the surface, since I intended to display that without a glass cover.

That meant I could paint over my original work.  What a novel idea !  (I am sure oil painters do that all the time?)

I started out by "softening" the scene by accentuating the cloud and mist to make the painting less "rigid".

Then I added the sun, with its rays; as any textbook would have shown.

It looked OK, but something was missing.  I didn't "feel" it.  Perhaps it was too "storybook" like.  Too much like a page of illustration.  Who Knows.  I was just having a soliloquy.  Mumbling, actually.

Somehow I thought of Photoshop, a tool that I often use with my photography.  "Layers" to be specific.

What if I created a layer of the rising sun and superimpose that on the original painting.  Hmmmmmmm.

There's only one way to find out.

First I needed to see the effect of a piece of cicada skin Xuan superimposed on my painting.  I needed to know the degree of transparency I was dealt with.  Unlike Photoshop, I would not be able to adjust the transparency of my "layers" here.

Satisfied that the cicada skin Xuan was transparent enough to not totally obscure the painting underneath, I began to prepare my layer for the sun.

Before putting my feet to the fire, I did a dry run.  I took a picture of the top layer "sun" and superimposed it onto my bottom layer of the original painting.

This might actually work!

 

Two finches in a pear tree

Christmas has come and gone but the proverbial Twelve Days of Christmas song somehow keeps playing in my head.

          On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me a partridge in a pear tree

          On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me two turtle doves, and a partridge in a                  pear tree

I am reminded by the lyrics of my painting of pear tree flowers.  I have always loved that simple painting and to me it demonstrates the merits of Chinese round brush painting, although one would not associate it with the "traditional" Chinese brush painting.  Everything in that painting was done with discrete calligraphic brushstrokes, as if I was writing multitudes of "dots".  On top of that, it was sort of a plein-air painting.  I sat in the backyard, writing all dots as blossoms from my pear tree.  With that said, I've always felt that something was missing.  It lacked a story.  It lacked a plot.

How about borrowing from the Christmas carol and place a couple of finches in my pear tree.  I don't have partridges in my backyard but I do see finches.

I don't want to make my finches too ostentatious.  The finches I see usually betray their presence by their chirping or by their flickering, seldom by their colors.  The black-head finch, or the yellow-body variety would blend in too much with my painting of pear tree flowers.  I mean, I do want my finches to be sort of obscure, but not to the extent of puzzles like  "Where's Waldo" ( aka Where's Wally ).  I think the red-head finch best fit my purpose.  They use the color of their red head as calling cards, but their bodies blend in pretty well with their surroundings. 

This looks like a good spot to hang out,

 

Then there's this part of the painting that I don't quite like.  I must have been too faithful to what I was observing.  I painted two branches forming a 90 degree angle with each other.

Perfect place to place my other finch, to hide the oops.

My finch is going to be perched with its head turned back, interacting with its playmate below.  I like the pose for the simple reason that it creates movement, and forms connections.

I don't quite like the way the feet look.  The claws are not clasping like a typical bird would.  The claws need to be longer for starters.  I suppose I can try to hide them with flower petals.  I do like the fact that the greyish plumage blends in nicely with the existing painting.  

The finches do transform my painting.