I See The Light, cont'd

Now I needed to tend to the main element of this painting, the light, or beams of light to be specific.

My basic premise was a black and white painting having a diagonal divide, with a darker right lower half contrasting with the lighter left upper half.  The center beam of light would be the most pronounced, hitting the fern plant in the foreground.  Half of the plant would be highlighted, to add to the drama of the light show.

In order to train my brushstrokes to the proper orientation to showcase the rays, I cut out strips of newspaper and placed them in the pattern of the rays.  My design was to have these protected areas be the light beams, thus whilst I could paint in the background, I could just paint over these strips of newspaper, not having to worry about broken or disjointed brushstrokes.  In my mind, the painting would be sliced up by these swaths of void, but I didn't want the piece to feel scrambled.  I wanted that knife edge feel of a search light beam.

The newspaper covered areas would not be totally vacant, since I had started to paint in the background already but using ink diluted with alum.

 Now I would ramp up the intensity of the "dark" areas to show off the voids.  It's all an optical illusion.

The rays of sunlight seemed too staged and rigid in the painting.  This was not unexpected, since I was rather draconian in blocking in my light rays.  Fortunately this offered me an opportunity to gradually change the black or grey values, to make the painting look more pleasing and less mechanical.  That required patience, something I am constantly reminded as a virtue that I am lacking

I needed to manipulate the length, the width, the intensity and the spacing of these rays..

Somehow the painting still looked odd to me.  I couldn't quite tell what was wrong with it but I knew something was missing.

After I got tired of scratching my head, and some other parts of my anatomy, I cheated by digging out the photography again; just to see if the picture could help me re-live the moments when I snapped it.

What was missing became imminently apparent.  It was the details at the upper right hand corner.  What I had now was a huge hole.

I was thinking beams from the sun, all the while forgetting that the light squeezed in through spaces at the tree tops.  That little bit of detail at the upper right corner made all the difference.  It defined the portal where the beams sneaked through.

A lighthearted and well placed smudge by the brush fixed that problem. 

The painting looked finished now, all pieces were accounted for.  While I was plugging up the hole on the upper right, I also added some finesse to the painting.  I added some highlights to the tree trunks and branches.  I mentioned that I mixed ink with alum solution to hopefully get some clear margins on my brushstroke edges.  Well that didn't happen as I had hoped, so I did my own garnishing.  I used a watered down white gesso as my pigment.  I was just experimenting and the results were fine.  These seemed less luminous than the gouache and showed the highlights in a subtle way.  Definitely not overpowering like the fern leaves.

I See The Light

I recalled a photography I took while walking in the woods.

It was a foggy kind of morning and the sun was out.  The beams of light from the sun were piercing through the tops of tall fir trees, and wiggling through leaves and needles of cedar;  illuminating the morning mist as they descended onto earth, turning the space into an outdoor cathedral.  I could place myself in a dim duomo,  the swirling smoke from the burning incense being caught by the light coming in through the stained glass windows.

I wanted to paint this.  In black and white, with ink and Chinese brush, on Xuan.

Immediately I was faced with a challenge.  How would I portray the fern that caught the light?

In traditional Chinese painting light value is seldom an issue. The emphasis is always on brushstrokes, whether they possess rhythm, strength and if the composition is ethereal.   Here my emotional connect was with this theater of light beams, and I am using ink to establish my values; to set my stage.  Traditions out of the window.

I would normally use the unpainted areas of my Xuan as my reference for white, but that seemed inadequate in this setting.  In my mind the untouched areas are "neutral", and I needed a way to depict "brightness" beyond neutral.  I needed to find a way to go into the "positive" values.  I wanted to be able to show that the fern was in the lime light, its fish-bone like leaves were emanating the reflected solar energy.

I called on my old trusted friend alum, exploiting its sizing quality.
 
I first painted the lit areas of the fern with a saturated solution of alum and allow that to dry completely.  This process helped to protect my fern from future staining by ink, as long as the ink was kept light.  In other words, if I could paint  in the surrounding spaces judiciously, I could stay away from the brushstrokes laid down with alum.  This is sort of similar to using masking fluid in watercolor painting,   Masking fluid could not be used in conjunction with Xuan because the paper is so fragile,  Imagine using masking fluid on toilet paper!  I would not be able to erase or peel off the dried mask.

Because the alum could not shield ink completely, I chose to go over my brushstroke with titanium white or white gouache again.  So why did I not just do the gouache in the first place?  That would save time and effort.

By adding a real opaque layer on top a semi translucent layer of alum, I was having 2 overlapping white ( or void ) layers, slightly juxtaposed, creating body and thickness.

I had to insert a colored under-pad to see my white brushstrokes, since the white wool pad that I normally used did not help to create a contrast.

I then painted in some of my background firs.  Here I diluted my ink with alum solution.  The purpose was to laid down tracks that were semi impermeable to subsequent brushstrokes, such that it could be seen as vague and solid at the same time.  I was concerned that any future staining, washing of the background could render these stands into oblivion; into an abyss of darkness.  I wanted the outlines to be discernible at the very least.  I wanted to create an air where one senses the presence of the trees, but is not aware of them as individuals.  Also I was hoping for some of the alum would migrate to the edge of the brushstroke before drying, thus forming a thin clear margin, representing the lit edges of the trunks.  Hopefully that would happen serendipitously.

Postscript To My Exhibition

I am sorry the exhibition is now over.

All the planning, visualizing, coordinating, plot maps, surveys, mounting, frame making, meetings, anticipating, joy and angst are now all but memories. 

The exhibition was a still-born to begin with.  We were rejected initially.  Fortunately one member of the group persisted and one year later we got the gig.  One puts forth all that energy, to have a moment of discussing art in a legitimate and conducive environment, and be able to grasp the moments of stimulating exchanges, only to be dealt the inevitable ebb that follows; 

There is no real reason to start a new day now.

Is this what postpartum blues feels like?

There were some moments during this exhibition that were endearing to me.

Typically the conversation during such an event revolved around  "what is your medium", "do you use India Ink?","is that water color?" , "what is that red mark, is that your name?"; and ended with " Xuan? Oh you mean rice paper!"

I encountered none of these this time around.

3 pieces of my work received a lot of attention.

The first one is labelled  LONELY.

It was a dark piece, both in tone and in substance.  Ostensibly I was trying to depict a lone wolf crying to the moon.  However the birds in the barren tree revealed by the cold moon told a different story; at least in my mind.  The birds had found refuge, they had a place to nest, even in an unforgiving tree, yet the wolf beckoned.  For what, I don't know.  Surely the animals are of different species and any kinship is unlikely, yet the wolf longed for company, be it the moon, be it the birds, be it the tree, be it just the cold night.

Most people who would open up and discuss the painting with me got the message. I was convinced the title helped to convey that.   It was interesting however to note the other extreme of the spectrum.  A visitor asked me what kind of birds were in the trees, to which I answered with a rhetorical and perhaps annoyed tone: "Does it matter?"  At this point other visitors chimed in by offering me moral support, by adding to my quip, by saying the species of the animals did not matter at all.  They were just convincingly opportune props for my story telling.

The piece I named GOING HOME was originally called All By Herself.

I renamed it because I thought the new name was more apt to tune people in.  I believed Going Home was a more encompassing title, able to corral more complex emotions.  I had written in the past about whether a piece of work should be named or explained.  My assertion was that yes it should, and a proper title helps to steer people.   I sought the help of a lone woman, in eminently disappearing daylight, and a place yet to collect diners, to set the stage for inopportune occasions; wrong place, wrong time.  Time waits for nobody.

For those who got the message, they distinctly remembered the title, and vividly described the emotions they felt.  I could never forget the quivering voice that uttered to very few words but that the painting was "poignant". I could look into her eyes and saw her soul.  We were at the same place.

Then there was the INTREPID TRAVELERS.

No one asked me how it was done.

I stated in my previous blogs about the composition and the technique employed in completing  this piece.  The landscape and the reflections of the riders in water were just there to showcase and to challenge my craftsmanship.  The real dialogue was delivered by the vast sky.  It was this 90 percent of the painting that the visitors were relating to, telling me how they perceived the story.  In a way the vast empty space with coffee and tea stain functioned like a Rorschach inkblot test.  It was a vehicle by which people told of their own personal experience.

In this particular instance, it was paradoxical that the title did nothing to guide the audience to the four creatures in the painting.  They were not fooled by the prop and were able to look at the bigger stage.

The stage of emotions and feelings, and all the textures that accompanied them.

Kids' Play

I was asked if I would show a bunch of kids how to paint with a Chinese brush,  as part of a program to celebrate the Chinese New Year.  Their ages would range between 10 to 18, numbering 60.

So this should be a fun activity, for me and for the kids, I mused.  I understand not all kids came to this function out of their free will.  I will submit that the majority of them were just told to participate without the benefit of a discussion, but these are good kids who mind their elders,and follow instructions.  I prayed.

I must therefore recognize the fact that this was not going to be a painting lesson.  This was just going to be a wholesome activity, under the Chinese Brush painting banner.

I resorted to the paint by numbers method, sort of.  The is the worst and best of methods.  Worst in the sense that it fostered a wrong impression of how to paint; best as in it's result oriented.  Anybody can paint as long as they do what Simon says.

I had a easel set up so that each group of 20 kids could watch me.  I had to forgo my usual way of painting, which is on a flat surface lined with wool felt pad.

My plan was to paint one stroke at a time and stop, allowing the kids to emulate me.  I imagine the process would take about 30 minutes to finish the painting.  The painting would be of a monkey, since this is the year of the monkey in our calendar.

The set up resembled a class room; kids would be sitting four abreast, in five tables.  They were provided with a Chinese brush, a paper plate as the ink palette, and construction paper in lieu of the traditional Xuan.
We used construction paper because it is less likely to bleed if the brush is too wet, and of course, it is a lot cheaper.

I discovered that some of the kids did not know how to hold a Chinese brush.  They were handling it like a pen, thus only able to utilize the pointed tip of the brush and not the rest of it.  So we had to make do, after all this was not to be a painting lesson.

The following are some of the works by these novices:

These are actually not bad at all.

The ones below exemplify what happens when we are heavy on the tip and not much else

however these lines captured the essence of the playfulness of the critter.  Therefore I think the language more than made up for the lack of Bi-fa.

Invariably you are always going to find a couple of clowns in a group.  So where does one draw the line? (no pun intended)  Should one stymie their creativity by stopping them in their tracks or better yet, how should one channel their energy?  Where does discipline come in.

I felt like I was being draconian by making the kids put away their cell phones, and in the 30 minute span than I had them, I wasn't going to rock the boat too much.

My Suliao Xuan Ban In Action

I recently exhibited my paintings at a venue where there was a vast expanse of  windows, thus I was able to capitalize on the Sulian Xuan Ban format by exploiting  the back lit lighting.

I must admit, the effect was simply stunning.  I didn't want to gloat but it was so satisfying to see the idea came into fruition.

These works have a totally different nuance when viewed at daytime.   At the reception a visitor asked me if I had entertained the idea of putting a light behind these paintings for the back lit effect.

Honestly I have.  However I dismissed that idea like a hot potato.  Placing a lamp behind these paintings would take away the organic aesthetics of the works, rendering them rather ostentatious, resembling gift shop merchandise.

I guess sometimes we just have to wait for the stars to line up.  It's more meaningful that way.

Asymmetry of Expectations

As I had difficulty deciding on whether to do the Monkey painting in a calligraphic brush stroke style or what I called the doodling line style, I had even greater reservations about how to present my new painting.

I stated that my primary motivation for this painting was to celebrate the Year of the Monkey.  Having said that it would appear that it should naturally don a traditional festive garb.  That usually entails bright, vibrant colors, and the color red is a must.

Yet my sensitive, artistic, and yes, even ornery and conceited side ( wink, smirk) wanted it to be more like a piece of art rather than a seasonal commodity ( whatever the definition of art might be ).

That was how I arrived at retaining the naked poplar wood as my frame.  I loved the wood grain.

I did not want my painting to appear ostentatious.

I can't explain why I could accept the gold glitter and yet I would resist the red color.  In other words, glitter was not loud but red was?

That simply didn't make sense.

The expectations from my cerebral side was confronting my "traditional" side.

I then had an occasion to present my painting to another Chinese brush enthusiast and confided to her about my internal turmoil about wanting to paint an auspicious New Year's piece and yet refusing to put a New Year's dress on.  She pondered for a while and grabbed some red napkins and superimposed them on the frame for me. 

"That looks good too!  Perhaps you can make something red, as in a decoration, to dress it up just for the occasion?"

With that said, my cogs started turning.

I had an ugly mat board that I would never use as a mat, so I decided to put it to good use.

I cut out four lengths and mitered the ends to form corners.

I then taped the corners together with strips of artist tape, in the fashion of securing an incision with butterfly bandage.

Then the outer edges were folded in, to form a shell, a lid.  This reminded me of doing craft in grade school, when we made airplanes and tanks and trains with thick stock paper.  We tried to design the whole thing on a contiguous area, such that upon folding along the edges, a fuselage or a gun turret appeared.  Harking back, that was great training in perceiving things in three dimensions.

I then trial fitted this onto my framed painting

At this point, I was elated; almost ecstatic.

I was like kid, able to repair a X'mas toy after it had broken, and was able to hide that from my parents.

I was like a tailor in Hong Kong, custom fitted a suit for my customer.

I could hardly contain myself.  The contraption worked.

I then proceeded to reinforce the joints in my mat board shell by gluing fabric to the seams.

After a couple coats of red paint, which incidentally had to be cut with ink because it was too bright; my new frame.

Some people might describe this as a red neck way of doing things.  In my neck of the woods, the term red neck has a somewhat negative connotation ( correct me if I'm wrong ).   People are making fun of those of us who use duct tape for every conceivable repair, from mending broken window to keeping a detached car bumper in place.  Things might look less than perfect, but at least they serve the purpose and the repair did not cost a national defense budget.

Perhaps I'm a red neck at heart.  At the very least, I enjoy working with my hands and derive satisfaction in finding new ways of doing things.  I think I was forced to be resourceful when I didn't have much to begin with.  In this case I made a convertible shell for my painting.  The red paper shell serves to alter the ambiance of the piece; at least for the purpose of displaying, and for the purpose of being proper for the occasion.

I am intrigued by my self analysis, and no I did not lay down on a couch!  Had I treated this like any other painting, I wouldn't be having this ambiguity about how to present it.  It would be however I felt and I would let the painting guide me in most cases.  Once I perceived this as something that pertains to my culture's recognition of the Year of the Monkey, then I must tread in the foot steps of tradition.  In a way I felt compelled to dress it the traditional way, because it was expected of me, I being a Chinese.   There were shackles that I couldn't shed.  By employing this convertible red shell I think I might have found the way to gingerly sidestep this trap, in my mind at least.    Perhaps by being two-faced.

In the case of this painting, I was vexed by the asymmetry of expectations.

I have my cohort to thank.  She gave me that light bulb for this project.

Perhaps I could call one version the Id, the other one the Ego.

Now which one is which?

Please find me a couch.

Happy New Year, Year Of The Monkey

YEAR OF THE MONKEY

HAPPY NEW YEAR