Happy Year of the Snake

 

Giving life to the rattler

The next step in my snake painting was to render the markings of the snake.  These markings are visual clues to trick our mind into thinking that this is indeed a snake that we are looking at.  If the markings are done correctly and are distinct enough, perhaps we can even identify the species of the snake.  The grid that I sketched in before assisted me to write in the array of scales in their proper orientations and gave my painting a degree of realism. 

Before applying color to the sketched snake, I needed to establish the light values.  I was taught this while learning how to do landscape in Chinese brush and it served me well over the years.  Light values help to define the medial and lateral sides of the snake, to borrow from medical terminology.  These values also help to locate the light source, thus giving a three dimensional interpretation visually.  The values were applied using a light wash, and then rubbing with the semi-dried belly of the brush to help with the texture. 

I could now color the body of the snake.  Tea was my favorite color to use for this purpose.  Mixing it with vermillion gave me the right hue and the opacity from a little mineral green helped to give off the subtle feel of snake skin.  I also dolled up my snake using little dabs of metallic gold acrylic color.  Camouflaging is the art of survival in nature, but for my painting I needed to snake to parade itself a bit more. The paper itself had built in gold specks in it,  so the additional gold did not seem to distract. 

My project being a Chinese New Year's painting needed the mandatory red color.  There is no better representation of that than a piece of red paper for people to write something auspicious down, as commonly practiced in China and Hong Kong.

So I painted in my piece of red paper.

I placed that piece of red paper under the snake to suggest that the snake deemed it a favorable and safe place to dwell.  I wanted to accentuate the fact that the snake was laying on top of the paper by casting a shadow.  To help me determine the location of such shadow, a fashioned my prop snake using the packing material that I had intended to stamp the snake with and shone a light on it.

Now that I had my shadow painted in, and it did seem to lift the snake off the paper, I needed to write something auspicious on that piece of red paper.

I chose to write in the Chinese word for Bliss.  That word is very popular with such usage, especially for New Year's wishes.

I wrote the word Bliss using the same metallic gold acrylic paint that I dressed the snake with.  I chose to write it in the walking style font rather than the more formal block print font.  I liked the fact that the more cursive style calligraphy fit in better with my coiled snake.

Almost time for a Zodiac painting

It wasn't that long ago that I was fretting about painting the dragon.  I just couldn't form an image of what a dragon should look like in my head.  Now it is almost time for its successor to emerge.  The year of the snake is imminent.

I know a couple whose zodiac signs are dragon and snake.  Dragon is traditionally held at the highest regard. Ancient emperors donned robes embroidered with magnificent dragons and these emperors held an absolute monopoly to the rights of anything that had to do with the dragon.  The emperors claimed to embrace the virtues of the dragon, being kind and just on one hand but fierce and ruthless on the other.  As for the snake, I suppose most cultures do not  treat the snake with any fondness, which is unfortunate.  It is interesting none the less, to find the snake as a symbol of healing, both in biblical terms and in Greek mythology.  It is therefore employed as an emblem in the medical and pharmaceutical arena.  Thus this couple would always banter with each other, but wittingly agree that they are both serpents and the true difference lies in whether one has legs or not.    

Painting an animal that is associated with being sneaky, like a snake in the grass; or being evil like snake-eyes is difficult.  Very difficult.  Especially if the painting is to be used as good omen for the rest of the year.  I don't want to paint puny grass snakes.  They are not majestic symbols for me.  I don't want to paint a constrictor snake, they seem sneaky and sinister.  The King cobra is fierce alright, but that is all I can see.  Always angry and combative.  Not a virtue to embrace.  

I've tried playing around with snake painting years ago.  That never evolved into anything.  It was done on photo paper and purely for fun.

Recently I did a family zodiac painting and I modeled a snake in the shape of the alphabet L to give homage to the family name.

  

For the current exercise I chose to model a rattler.  

The rattle snake looks plump and wholesome (if one can call a snake wholesome) and it doesn't bother you unless you initiate the threat.  And it gives warning by making the rattling sound.  So it's not sneaky like the boa, not scrawny like the grass snake, not pissed off like the cobra.  I would say the rattle snake is the gentleman amongst snakes.  Enough said. 

I found a pose that I liked.  It was in the shape of the infinity symbol.  I suppose I could hype the painting by addressing the "hidden" meaning of the subject.  A true Zen master.  Wink.  Wink.

Filled in the body to see how the sketch would look;

Satisfied that this was what I wanted, I sketched the design onto a gold speckled Xuan.  I wanted to take advantage of the specks to help with the texture of the snake's skin.

I had some packing material laying around that I tried to exploit.  It had the same sort of scaly appearance of a snake. I was hoping that it could somehow allow me to "stamp" in the skin.

 

I decided against it as I realized it could be more effort than what was worth.  I would be spending so much time trying to align the "scales" in the correct orientation.  

So I sketched in my grid on the snake to help me visualize how the scales would line up when I needed to paint them in.  If I needed to paint them in that is.   Sketching in the grid was interesting. It reminded me of cutting out and gluing the ribs when building a balsa wood glider with my son when he was young. Fond memories.  

I also identified the spine of the animal to help me conceptualize the sides of the snake when it twisted and turned.

   

Year in review

As I am ready to dust off the cobweb on my Auld Lang Syne 45, I couldn't help but to reminisce about a few of my works, the ones that I have a special attachment to.  I am adding a digital frame to them.  Sort of donning them up in nice Sunday clothes.  

Just maybe

Rusalka

Ripples

Landscape

Three is a crowd

Atmosphere

C'era una volta il West

https://youtu.be/_1e9Mtygzgk?si=2COwC1rlr0d6bPIb

Wet mounting my two black and white pieces

Now that I've finished painting the two black and white pieces of works, which began with a notion that I could depict "atmosphere" with an ink brush and a water brush, I need to have them mounted.  Wet mounted that is.  

I keep harping on the topic of mounting works done on Xuan because in my neck of the woods people are still pretty naïve about this practice.  They either don't think that is so different from stretching an oil canvas over a frame, or from plain old matting a painting or picture.  As I had mentioned before, even our local Asian art and culture venue would display unmounted works squished and wrinkled in picture frames in their lobbies. I also personally know people who have sold framed, unmounted works on Xuan and are surreptitiously elated because the buyers of their works didn't know better.  Neither of these do justice to works done on Xuan, hence my insistence on writing about mounting. 

Enough soliloquy.  I should take heed of the name of a restaurant here, "Shut up and Eat".

My works are done on cicada skin Xuan and they are extremely fragile.  Great care must be paid to the handling of this paper, either when wet or dry.

The painting was laid face down on a clear sheet of plastic and wetted thoroughly.  Water relaxes the fibers in the paper.  Wrinkles invariably formed and the painting now looked like the skin of an old person.  The trick was to spray more water onto it, such that the paper actually floated on a thin film of water.  This allowed the wet Xuan to move freely on top of the plastic and most of the wrinkles and air bubbles could be stretched out.

Starch was brushed onto the back of the painting.  The stiff brush further pressed out any remaining wrinkles and air bubbles.  A piece of regular Xuan was put onto the back of the freshly starched painting.  Now that the painting was starched to the backing, the two pieces were lifted as one off the plastic and draped onto my wood board to dry.

The photo above showed the wet painting with its backing being hung out to dry.

The drying process renders the fibers taut in the paper.  The starch and the backing Xuan add strength and rigidity to the once whimsy cicada skin Xuan.  Remember the starched shirts and trousers in the old days?  I certainly do.  It's the same idea.  

I would use a double weight Xuan paper for my backing in this setting.  The double weight Xuan is thicker and more durable.  This is a 30 inch painting, so the two pieces of paper absorbed quite a bid of water (and starch).  The weight of all that water could easily tear the wet backing paper when being lifted from the plastic and transported to the wood board.  Try imagining how flimsy a wet piece of paper towel can get.  Now imagine lifting and handling one that is 40 inches long, laden with water.  

I knew I needed to be gentle and careful when doing the mounting, yet I still managed to nick a hole in my paper.  That seems to be my signature move. 

This was not the time to panic.  A very wet brush saturated with water could gently refloat the nicked area and tease the tear back to its original state, or at least greatly minimize the damage.  Never use a tweezer or you would tear the piece off and end up with a hole, guaranteed.   

The other painting, C'era una volta il West was mounted the same way.

In the photo above one could clearly see the white that was painted on the back of a dune and the tree. I used the white pigment to guarantee a solid white background for those two features, without adding distracting brushstrokes to the front of the painting.

The backing Xuan and the painting done on cicada skin Xuan were hung on my wood board to dry.  In this state of dampness, one could clearly see the effect of the white from the back.

This was how the painting looked when dried.  Notice how flat and taut the piece was.  It was like being ironed onto the wood board.

Again, the white from the back revealed nicely, without being obtrusive.  The fact that no visible "white" brushstrokes were seen bestowed a much more natural feel to the painting.  This harmony reminds me of a dark pupil next to the white of the eye.  The pupil is not a button stitched onto the sclera, but a natural looking component of our eye.  The same can be said about the negative space in the lower left corner.  That void was done on purpose, albeit without the help of white pigment on the back of the paper.  That one vacant corner gave room for the painting to "breathe".

LOST

C'era una volta il West

C'era una volta il West

I kept looking at my Painted Hill painting and something did not feel right.

I eventually noticed that my dunes were flanked from the front only, with nothing in the back.  That didn't make any sense.

A horizon was written in.  That was easy enough.  Ink soaked tip was allowed to disperse ink via pre-wetted areas just below the ink line.  The area to the right of the big dune was a little too vast to work this formula, so a few dark dunes were painted in, to contrast with the lighter dune in the front.

It was making more sense.  The painting however was still begging for something.  Can't really put my finger on it.  

Perhaps I could add a few details like some sage brushes, or some Agave plants to give my desert some nuance.  

I picked my horse hair brushes for this endeavor.  

I don't know which part of the horse did the hair come from.  All I could say is that the hair bristles are just that.  They are bristles of thick, strong, stiff hair.  Almost like a wire brush if I'm allowed to embellish my words. 

I used these brushes because the stiff hair made the brushstrokes more forceful and resolute in appearance.  Perhaps one's wrist wiggles and wanders less with a stiff brush?  Thus I thought my sage brush and whatnot would appear less wimpy?  Since they were in such a harsh environment?  That was the idea anyways.

Something was still amiss.

Perhaps my mind was too keenly focused on the two melodies, that of the sky and the desert.  I sensed a certain alienation.  Perhaps that was the notion that I was looking for all along.  Yet I was not liking it when I looked at the painting.  The sky and the earth should be one.

I kept referring to the clouds in the sky as a melody, and the dunes of the desert as my counter-melody.  If this painting was truly a musical interpretation, then I needed a resolution to tie the two melodies together.

How about a tree in the near foreground.   

The tree could steer the line of sight from the ground to the sky, and also helped to extend the scenery even farther away.  

I had intended for the small dune on the left to assume the darkest tone.  I felt that the large dune on the right was too dark for a proper separation.  But how do I lighten the value.  This was not an oil painting or something that I could overpaint on.

I turned to the back of the translucent Xuan.  I used titanium white on the back of the large dune.

The idea was not to "lighten" the dune per se, but to ensure that I had a solid white background to define my tones in that area.  Thus the light and void areas would absolutely look brighter and lighter with a solid white backing from the titanium white.

Had I used the titanium white on the surface of the paper, the occlusive paint would impart a different texture and reflectiveness to the surface of the painting.  The effect would be an unpleasant one.  Whereas the color on the back of the paper would do its job without any fuss.  The coloring-on-the-back of Xuan technique is commonly employed when we do leaves and flower petals.  Often a color of indigo or yellow (a difficult color to master) would be painted on the back of the paper, and the intended color would be painted on the top side.  The combined effect of the two colors from both sides of the paper is delicately elegant.  

The same technique was applied to the tree.

I used the stiff horse hair brush to write the tree, so the brushstrokes were streaky with lots of void space showing in-between the bristles.  The titanium white on the back made sure that the voids in the brushstrokes showed up, giving a knurly character to the branches of this dead tree in a forsaken place.

Perhaps the painting now looked somewhat cliché, but it most certainly made sense.  Without color cues to describe the landscape, especially not knowing a thing about the striated claystone layers, the menacing clouds and the bleak landscape spell doom, not beauty.  I suppose the dead tree is the epitaph in a sense.  It might as well be a cross. What if I painted a cross and not a dead tree?  That would be a lot more theatrical.  I wonder if the sky was painted blue and the dunes were given stripes of gold and black and rust, would the painting assume an inviting and adventurous persona, and not one of desolation?

The painting was inspired by C'era una volta il West. (Once upon a time in the West)

https://youtu.be/_1e9Mtygzgk?si=2COwC1rlr0d6bPIb

Wild Wild West-Painted Hills

It is time to compose my counter-melody, i.e. the bottom half of the wild wild west.  This is the part where the desert scene of Painted Hills in central Oregon would fit in.  

There really is a place called the Painted Hills in central Oregon.  The spot is actually not a desert so to speak, but a gathering of dunes of claystones that display stratified layers of different colors, from rust to gold to black.  I picked this theme as my counter-melody because I think the stripes are very different from the clouds.  The exception is that they are both layered.  Yes clouds are amorphous but a sea of clouds certainly has structure.  In my painting they are layered.  Thus I believe it would be visually stimulating to compare and contrast the clouds with striped dunes.  

I started out with a small dune.  I needed this to be a reference point for my darkest tone for this half of the painting.

I then painted in the foreground.  A nondescript stretch of real-estate.

Chuen are brushstrokes used to describe the texture of the soil or rocks.  I've touched upon techniques like the axe-chuen, hemp chuen in my past blogs, and I had also alluded to the dot-chuen.  This is done by writing dots in strategic areas; either to help with shading, or to hide mistakes.  In my case, I used this technique to texturized the entire foreground.  Sort of like pixels from yesteryears newspaper print.  Or perhaps what the western world called pointillism.  Isn't it interesting that the East and the West are really not that different.

 

My next chore was to construct the main theme of this counter-melody; the main dune that occupied the greater portion of the lower half of the painting.

I had written in the shape of the dune, and the contour lines of the lopes of the dune.  Thrusting my brush backwards such that the brush tip lined up with the contour line was my way to achieve the proper shading.  This was done in lieu of the traditional chuen technique because I found shading to be more effective in describing the lobes.  A void in the middle of the lobe suggested a bulging structure.  My goal was to create these fingers running down the slopes of the dunes.  

Stripes were written to illustrate the striated features of these painted hills.

The lower left portion of the landscape was left open on purpose.  This is what we Chinese brush painters called "breathing".  It helped to open up the scene.  Had that void been filled in, the painting might look somewhat claustrophobic.