Friday, 28 October 2016

Light, Colour & Paint

the Painter's Studio

The studio of Francis Bacon

When we think of a  painter's studio we imagine a space filled with an abundance of all kinds of materials: essential tools for the creative mind. Paints and brushes, easels, canvasses, sketches, computers, curiosities and much more, all arranged to suit the painter's needs and method.
Of the same importance is the studio's lighting.
I clearly remember from my study at the State Academy in Amsterdam (in it's original building) the huge difference in light-temperature between the class-rooms. My first year was in warm sunshine flooding in through big windows situated in a south-west wall. Moving on further with my studies meant moving up into the professional studios situated in the northern part of the building. The years spent here are dominated by the cool, grey light coming in through huge windows. Flat northern light causing flat colours, colouring our palettes, painting(s) and energy.
The available light in which art works are created has a profound and underestimated effect on every painter's work.

Bacon's studio, or rather his cage as depicted above, receives concentrated light from a high and narrow roof window fixed overhead in brown wood.

Johannes Vermeer ( 1632 - 1675)

A huge difference with the organised and richly decorated studio depicted by Vermeer around 1667, lighted by a window to the painter's left side. For a right handed person the ideal position to avoid the disturbance of casting shadows while working the canvas. When we observe the intensity of the entering light it is clear that the lower part of the window is covered by a panel to enhance contrasts of the model and the scene. The situation is comparable with the studio painted by Jan Miense Molenaar around the same period, where only the top of the window, on the left, is uncovered.

Jan Miense Molenaar ( ca 1610 - 1668)


 
Pablo Picasso (1881 - 1973) France

The photo with Picasso posing in his studio next to a newly finished painting resembles Vermeer's, with the controlled daylight entering from the left.
Picasso has used the powerful, abstract effects of the strong sunlight of a French summer in his work, creating bright squares in shady rooms.
Reliable light is essential when painting indoors. Overcast skies and the position of the sun alter the quality of daylight and make it, at various times, impossible to continue painting. Just as happened today, when I started writing this blog, heavy overcast skies turned my studio into a gloomy space.

In the past, artificial light like candles and oil-lamps were not a solution because the yellowish light distorts the original colours of paints. With the 20th century invention of the so called daylight fluorescent tube lighting, and the modern LED, lamps could be used to replace natural daylight.
Personally, and for many of my colleagues, no lamp can replace the vividness of natural light.

Out of doors

Willem Roelofsz (1822-1879) painting  a cool Dutch summer

The ultimate daylight painting method is, of course, done outdoors. 
Each landscape presents it's specific energies, light, and colour-temperature. 
Confronted by an ever changing atmosphere enforces intense observation and quick, direct work. A passing cloud, the slow but steady movement of the sun, constantly alter the subject. This is 'no bullshit' painting at its finest. 
Struggling with winds, heat or cold, with aching shoulders and back, and limited tools; or sore eyes and so called snow blindness caused by looking too long at a sun blazed white canvas. Exactly as happened to Van Gogh during his outdoors painting sessions. 



John Singer Sargent (1856 - 1925) painting in the Alps


David Roberts (1796 - 18640, painting ruins in Egypt

Based on this richness and variation in light a painter makes a choice of the colours and paints she or he thinks will be the best to translate an image, an idea into two-dimensions. It is an essential part of the finished work of art.

Thus, when visiting a museum where the atmosphere is strictly controlled to protect the art on show, we don't see and  experience the works as intended by their creators. Sunlight is banned, the light, the colouring of the walls, the height of the ceiling, the size of the room, are all different than the artist's studio and the original place for hanging.
Another factor, especially in popular museums, is that you are never on your own.


 Rembrandt's 'Nightwatch' in the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam


Works of art in museums are always out of context. They have lost their intended function, and meaning, and are mixed together with other works of the same period or other eras, according to the opinions and preferences of the curators.

Reconstruction of Rembrandt's studio in the Rembrandt-house in Amsterdam

For more reading on colour &  paint click here

Sunday, 28 August 2016


Colours

Colour Theory  versus  Painting Practice

 

www.7coloursproject.com

 

What is colour? 

A simple question that is so very difficult to answer. Colour is light, colour is mood, structure, matter, elusive.....many theories  offer a range of explanations. This range of explanations are the cause of deep misunderstandings when it comes to colour as matter.
I remember vividly an incomprehensible event during drawing lessons when I was at Primary School. The teacher had told us about light, the rainbow, about colours,  their names and how to mix them to create new ones. And, a miracle, how a mixture of all the bright colours turned into white! Well, I tried hard but after an hour working my colour-pencils I never got anything other then a drab brown. And no explanation from my teacher.

Here we encounter one of the big pitfalls in the thinking about colour: colour is light but paint is matter. White light is the sum of 7 bright colours but white paint is not made by mixing these 7 colours. Nevertheless, this unworkable theory for painting is still taught at schools and universities today as an integral part of colour in art. But the artist's colour systems and schemes are based on other principles and characteristics. On opaque versus transparent, warm versus cool, dark versus light, complemented with the interactions of various groups of colours. In western thinking known as primary and secondary colours.

Isaac Newton's (1642-1727) prism on top of his manuscript on the properties of light. Photo Lessing Images

Therefore, using colour as paint requires a different approach.
Firstly, the three so-called primary colours don't exist as such. These colours offered in basic sets of paint are also not the base for mixing 'all' colours, as suggested. More than once I have heard a customer in an art supply shop inquire about these basic sets, whether they would provide the whole range of mixed colours. They would get the answer 'yes' ...................this scenario takes me back to my fruitless struggles with the colour pencils.
A basic set like the one below is a nightmare to work with because these colours don't work together. The only possible mixture to be made with this particular set is a rather opaque orange. Other combinations will turn out dull or brownish.
The reason is it's lack of cool colours, which leads us to the often underestimated effect of the Temperature of Colour.
Basic paint set, with mostly warm and too opaque colours

 

 

Warm Blue and Cool Red

 Knowing the temperature of colour is an essential part in the handling of one's palette. 

 


The art-historic interpretation of a colour-wheel, however, useless in painting

For anyone working with paints and inks, a workable set of primary colours contains a warm and cool variety of each colour. The colour wheel above is used on a website by a blogging art-historian explaining it's use in painting to create perspective by using cold colours, the blues, in the back-ground. Hence it's division in cold and warm colours. This highly popular theory is based on the misunderstanding that blue is cold and red and yellow are warm.  Anyone familiar with paint knows differently.  The vibrant warm ultramarines, the cold reds and  yellows, and warm and cool emeralds do not fit into this theoretical thinking. Ergo, this colour wheel is useless as a tool to understand the temperature of colour in paint, in matter.

Talking paint the wheel is divided  as seen below, with warm and cool (cold)  distributed in both sections. I prefer to add the neutral colours which are neither specifically warm or cool(cold), like the original cobalt blue or a regular yellow ochre.
In colour wheels like this one the broad range of natural earth-colours is absent, although they are the backbone of painting.
As well are black and white, which for a painter are not the simple two (non-)colours as generally presented, but who in itself cover a wide range from warm to cool.    

   
The colour-wheel as seen by painters.

To make the matter even more complicated, each colour is defined by surrounding colours. Thus a cold blue indigo seems warmer when it's neighbour is the even colder Prussian blue. This effect is called the relative colour temperature.

 

 

Temperature and Meaning 

 

Colour temperature in it's original historic sense plays an essential part in the use of pigments and dyes throughout history.
The temperature of a colour had (and still has)  a symbolic value and played an important role in signalling the good or the evil.
As an example we can look at the temperatures of two historic blue pigments, lapis lazuli ultramarine and indigo which were both available in southern Eurasia. The first is in it's purest form a brilliant, vibrating warm blue, the second a deep, cold night-blue. Both were associated with the powers beyond, ultramarine with the heavenly powers, indigo with those connected to the darkness of after-life and the underworld, with grieve. Each was used in this specific way to emphasize the role and meaning of the deities depicted.



















Dürer's (1471-1528) unfinished Christ and the slightly older 14th century Tibetan Buddha share the  warm blue as the symbol of divine, positive power. The Tibetan creator of the Buddha lived much closer to the source of the rare and extremely expensive lapis lazuli then Dürer, which explains why Dürer modelled Christ's tunic first with the slightly cooler, more available and cheaper, azurite before he would finish with a glacis of lazurite, the purest ultramarine.

These two works of art show us as well that the availability of  pigments determines the possibilities of it's creators. Uncountable are the Buddha's and Christ's which have to do with lesser or substitute colours and pigments. Or even completely lack colour due to the poverty of the community they were made for.

Summarizing, understanding the temperature of colours in painting is much more complicated than cutting a colour-wheel in half.      


monicaR  all rights reserved

~

Saturday, 5 March 2016

Painting with broken Glass 

a Reconstruction

www.monicarotgans.nl

Since prehistory man has attempted to reproduce the deep blue colour of a clear summer sky. The heavenly blue that is thought to house and represent the unpredictable, divine powers.
Blue is a rare colour in our earth's colour-scheme which is dominated by floral greens and the many hues of ochres. Easy to find ochres used in colouring the earliest art, supplemented with the whites of lime and charcoal blacks.


Blue and green pigments and paints, and the words used to name them, appeared much later.
As usable pigments and stable colours they were hard to come by, they were either hidden in ore, like cobalt and copper, or embedded in enclosing rock, like lapis lazuli.
Azurite is the oldest source for blue pigment, first used in the ancient cultures of the Middle East. It is a member of the copper-family, hence it's blue is tinted with a green hue, making it less suitable to imitate the warm blue of the heavens.

For about 6000 years the only  genuine alternative was the pigment made from the deep blue variety of lapis lazuli. However, it's scarcity meant that for most people it was unavailable or unobtainable. For the whole of Eurasia and Africa the only known sources were from the remote mines of the hostile Kokchan-valley in Badakshan, modern Afghanistan.
A very welcome alternative became available around 5000 years ago as a product of the expanding Middle-Eastern glass-industries. Red, green, yellow and blue glass grew to be the man-made alternative for colourful but rare gemstones, easily manipulated in moulds of various sizes.
The blue variety of glass, the imitation lapis, was made by adding cobalt to the basic glass-ingredients.



The famous funeral mask of Tutankhamen is a beautiful example of the use of  blue cobalt glass and enamel in combination with genuine lapis lazuli.

Christianity established as the main religion on the European continent during the Middle Ages. With it's increasing power, the need for representative and dominating symbols grew, culminating in the extraordinary piece of architecture: the cathedral.


the intense blue of the Saint Denis Cathedral stained-glass Rose window
The abbot of Saint Denis, Suger (ca. 1081-1151) is considered to be the initiator of the first grand stained-glass windows. They were commissioned for the far-reaching expansion of the monastery's church, turning it into the first known cathedral. For his church, Suger wanted the windows to represent '.. the inaccessible light where God lives'. Light which could only be of the most intense, enveloping blue.
And thus were they created.

Cobalt, the raw material used in colouring blue glass was a by-product from the mining of silver and other ores. It was used to produce the so called saffer, after sapphire. Not the gemstone we know under that name, but the lazuli-stone, then considered far more precious than gold and sapphire. Somewhere  the idea was had by someone to turn Saffer into smalt by grinding the  blue lumps of molten glass into a pigment. A pigment resembling lapis, but readily available and far less costly.

a piece of smalt/saffer, as sold by Kremer Pigmente
 Painters and decorators welcomed the solution which put an end to the constant scarcity of genuine ultramarine and the unsatisfying hues of azurite. Despite it's caprices smalt became one of the regular pigments. However,  to maintain it's colour it had to be used rather coarsely: the finer the grain, the paler the colour.


Coarsely ground smalt, so called strooiblauw. Collection of author

Smalt, as a warm blue, raised considerably the colour-temperature of the painter's palette. Beautiful examples are the skies in Dutch landscape paintings, as in the 'River-scene' by Jan van Goyen (1596-1656).

http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/jan-van-goyen-a-river-scene-with-a-hut-on-an-island


Kobold (hence 'cobalt') the little blue ghost, believed by the miners to inhabit the ore, continued to play it's games. Painters knew of the problems ill treated smalt could give; I wonder whether they could really imagine the enormous impact of discoloured smalt on their work. 
Old smalt-blue can still be enjoyed today, as seen in Van Goyen's painting, but it can also have lost it's colour completely. Changed into a dull brown, deforming the composition and, importantly, changing the meaning of a painting. Actually diminishing all of the painter's hard work.

http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/jan-jansz-treck-still-life-with-a-pewter-flagon-and-two-ming-bowls


The above still-life by Jan Jansz. Treck (1605-1652) is, unfortunately, a fine example. It seems an old  painting displaying the golden-brown glow of age. However, we may ask ourselves does this kind of greenish china-ware exist? Does it make sense?
What we are in fact looking at is a coat of yellowed varnish in combination with a vanished blue. Linseed-oil and smalt don't really like each other. The colour of the tiny glass-particles is eventually swallowed by the oil when not applied properly, or when the smalt is not of the right quality. What Treck originally painted was a fine blue tablecloth with a blueish background, and on the table a still-life of the most exquisite blue-white china and an expensive crystal glass. Symbols of wealth as the Dutch liked to display.


monicaR all rights reserved

~






Sunday, 17 January 2016

The Paint under our Feet

 RED

Ochre Point South Australia where red earth meets the ocean


Standing on reds, yellows, whites, and purples by simply taking a walk, effectively walking on pigments, is a strange experience for someone like me; I was raised in Holland, a rather colourless country below sea-level, dominated by the greys of clay and clouds.
Other countries offer quite a different palette, full of flamboyant oxides in a range of hues from deep red to brilliant yellow.
Colours which are the Cradle of Art.

The colours of the earth were the first pigments handled by humans to recreate and create. Recreating the game they hunted and creating symbols which still hold their hidden meanings from us. The impressive wisents, wild horses and sheep, lions, rhinos and even elephants in the prehistoric European paintings we know today, were painted with the effective limited palette based on earth-pigments. It is a palette uniting mankind. 

http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2014/10/09/4102672.htm


http://archeologie.culture.fr/chauvet/frThe hand stencils depicted here were found on three different continents: Europe, America and Asia. The oldest have been created around 40.000 years ago. They are evidence of the creative drive of the oldest of what we call humankind. Some may even have been made by Neanderthals, as more scientists are now willing to conclude. 
These images were all made using the same technique: by spitting a mouthful of a watery mix with red earth over the hand. The oldest form of spray-painting. 
The dominant role of red in all of them is no coincidence, and is not connected to an abundance of the pigment in the surroundings of the caves. Red was, and still is in some ways, synonymous to blood, to life. A sacred colour connecting man with ancestors and the after-life.

Blood varies in colour. Fresh blood coming directly  from the body, is a light red, bubbling with energy. Dead blood is dark, almost black, and in thin layers brown. 
Red ochres come in a richer variety of hues: from a light pink, to a full tomato red, a shy brown, and modest violet. 
The pigment-box below is a collection of ochres  (and at the right some charcoal) which I gathered on the Fleurieu Peninsula in South Australia, complemented with one warm Outback ochre (centre).
 Paint, the Story of Art

Despite this range of hues, the reds commonly used in prehistoric painting are of a similar tone, a strong, often bright, red earth.
Research on the reds in various caves showed they were rarely locally found, but brought in from specific, often distant deposits. Hues which must therefore have had a special, symbolic function in the palette used to decorate the caves and sacred objects. 

The tradition of selecting  pigments for their specific colour and attributing a symbolic meaning to them, is universal. In this case of red earth, the seemingly archaic tradition has survived unchanged into 21st-century Australia. 
For more then 40.000 years the Australian Aborigines have been mining ochre deposits such as those of Wilga Mia, ochres of a particularly high quality. High quality meaning a strong, brilliant red, distinctly different from the red earth covering most of the continent.  
Ochres, red and yellow, were and are a vital ingredient in Aboriginal religious practices. The higher the quality of the red earth, the greater the distance it was traded. The mining of the quarries was restricted to a small group of experts of the tribe on whose land the ochres were found.
Red earth was traded with other clans and transported over distances of more then a 1500 kilometres to serve in rituals and to be transformed into paint.
 
Ochre Cliffs, once an  Aboriginal quarry, Flinders Ranges, South Australia

Unfortunately the aggressive attitude of modern man's mining companies has little respect for ancient traditions. During the last two centuries many of these prehistoric quarries have been mutilated to extract the ochres and accompanying minerals like copper and gold in large quantities for commercial and industrial purposes. 

The majority of historical pigments used by humans, share a similar history of mining and long-distance transports. With a growing demand, and loss of ancient symbolic values, the impact of mining on the environment has become, and remains, enormous. 

monicaR  all rights reserved

~

Wednesday, 16 December 2015



http://www.monicarotgans.nl/coaching/


Imagine....a world without blue pigments. Not just blue paints but also dyes, the colourants for textiles and leather, inks and plastics. Leaving the sky above our heads as the only large blue surface in sight, in summer accompanied by the short-lived flowers of fields and mountains.
For thousands of years this was the actual situation.
Strong, warm and bright blue pigments were rare, with lapis lazuli as the ultimate, most revered and exclusive exception.
A painting like Van Gogh's Dr Gachet from 1890, with its abundant use of blue and red, would have been a phenomenon. Displaying colours and pigments normally reserved for the religious and worldly elite.

The 19th century was an exceptional age having an unprecedented effect on the use and possibilities of colour and paint with France, and in particular Paris, as the driving forces.
Napoleon's hunger for territory and power resulted in almost endless processions from every corner of the new Empire to it's capital, Paris, transporting artworks to what later would become the Musée du Louvre.


Napoleon is considering an Egyptian mummy for his collections, ca. 1800.
This art-flood had it's consequences. Many art-works were damaged during the often long transports and needed restoration before being displayed. To this purpose the French government installed in 1794 a Conservatoire du Muséum des Arts. The demand for historic and rare blue pigments, like lapis lazuli and azurite, gave birth to the development of new pigments that changed the painters palette and finally brought an end to the scarcity of bright blue paints.

Cobalt-blue was developed by Thénard around 1802, followed by ultramarine, the long sought for replacement of lapis lazuli, in 1828 by Guimet.

Cobalt-blue was and still is relatively expensive (cheap cobalt is not the real thing!), but ultramarine turned out to be a rather economic pigment. The cheapest varieties were used as whiteners for laundry, of which Reckitt's Blue is one of the best known. The latter is an ideal substitute for painters lacking resources to buy proper pigments, like the young Van Gogh, who even used coffee grounds to make his brown paints. 
Van Gogh 'The poor and the money', 1882, mixed media on paper

Van Gogh considered cobalt-blue to be une couleur divine, a divine colour, ideal for suggesting space in the restricted two-dimensions of a canvas. The portrait of Dr. Gachet is a beautiful example of his love for an abundant use of cobalt, indirectly made possible thanks to the expeditions of Napoleon.
 

Monday, 16 November 2015

Van Gogh's Paint

  A lost battle between Colour & Time?

http://www.monicarotgans.nl/agenda/

Flowers, wheat-fields, starry nights and colourful portraits, some of the words associated with the famous painter's work. Paintings with surfaces that reflect the intensity, concentrated haste, and often rising frustration, in which they were  painted.

We know Van Gogh (1853-1890) as a colourist, a painter who took full advantage of the new possibilities  offered in the field of paint and colour by the Industrial Revolution. Innovations that swept like a tsunami first through the western world and then flooded the rest of the globe. The new pigments with strong reds, yellows, greens and blues allowed for a broader and more effective use of colour-theories. Colours which were until then either too rare and expensive, or just not existent, like warm blues, strong, clear greens and solid yellows. A situation which is now difficult to imagine living in a modern world with our daily and unlimited access to thousands of colours.

The interaction of colour is one of van Gogh's main tools. Strategically placing primary and secondary colours, opposing cool and warm, and using structure to enhance or to break the intensity of a hue. The complexity of this thinking should be visible and give us better understanding of his approach and goal, and writing. How his works were meant to be. Unfortunately many of the newly available pigments Van Gogh (and his colleagues) used, turned out to be unstable. Some drastically unstable. The consequence is that the slow disintegration of the colours is unstoppable, even in the strictly controlled circumstances in the museums.


In 1913, 23 years after Van Gogh's death, Charles Moreau-Gauthier published the book La peinture. Les divers procédés in which he included examples of discolouration in modern paints. Discolouration caused by exposure to light. The effect on some colours is quite disastrous. Chrome yellows turn brown (the brown dots in the painting at the top)  and some red lakes completely disappear. Unfortunately these were two of van Gogh's popular paints, playing an important part in his balanced colours-schemes. The impact on how Van Gogh's work has survived is big. The combination of unstable pigments, destroying varnishes, thin grounds, haste and transports, have altered the canvases irreversibly.
But thanks to the Digital Revolution we can try and undo some of the effects of the Industrial Revolution. Using natural and conservation science and original pigments, in combination with my experience as a painter and colourist, I have developed a method to recreate van Gogh's palettes. These palettes provide the base of a digital reconstruction of which the Metropolitan's 'Irisses' can be seen here.


The painting in it's actual state. 

Van Gogh describes the irisses in his letter from May 11, 1890 as

‘…de grands bouquets de fleurs d’Iris violets, les unes contre un fond rose où l’effet est harmonieux et doux par la combinaison des verts, roses, violets….’

  There is no mentioning of white, blue and brown. The result based on the remade palette with violets, red, yellow and warm greens, alters the painting considerably, showing the harmony Van Gogh describes in his letter.
This partial digital reconstruction is an example of the importance of the material side of an art work. How the knowledge and understanding of the colours handled by the artist to transform an idea into matter, changes our perception.



the partial reconstruction of background and bouquet
monicaR all rights reserved 2015



The reconstructed  paint on a linen
surface. It is a clear example of the gap between paint, print and pixels, which can be so misleading when looking at reproductions.

Friday, 16 October 2015

Paint & Pixels

Discolouration and the Public Eye

 

Nicolas Poussin (1594-1665) The finding of Moses, 1651, 116 x 175 cm.,
oil on canvas, National Gallery, London.                 Photo by author

An idyllic representation of the finding of baby Moses by the daughter of the Egyptian Pharaoh. It's Poussin's third and last version of the topic, and a painting displaying an abundant use of exclusive pigments, especially the warm blue of natural ultramarine (from lapis lazuli). A rare blue,for many centuries more sought after and more valued than gold. It's specific colour-temperature in combination with the special way it has to be applied in oil-painting, makes it stand out even more than was intended by the painter.
Poussin would not be pleased at all seeing his work in its present state, with the isolated red, yellow and blues, dominating and dis-balancing the composition.
One of the main colours that went missing is green: the warm, vibrant greens. We see some greenish foliage and a cool blueish green in some of the women's clothing, they are too cool and too weak to stand their ground. The cause is discolouration. A combination of fading yellow lakes and the browning of copper-greens such as verdigris.
Until the 19th century the painter's palette was limited to greens that were made by mixing blues and yellows, or the cool, blueish copper-greens (including malachite). These could be turned into warm greens using yellow lakes. Simple, bright, and warm green pigments were unavailable until the 19th century.
The result of the then available limited palette and the tricks of paint, is a not very attractive, unharmonious painting.

However, this problem may be more or less solved by reproducing the painting in pixels or prints.
The Poussin on the website of the National Gallery
To achieve an optical balance the image on the website of the National Gallery has been markedly darkened, reducing its contrast and brightness. The difference between my photo taken in the museum, and the image from the website, is more than remarkable.
This demonstrates one of the many problems we are confronted with when looking at a painting in reproduction, whether it be in pixels or print.

We may conclude that a confrontation with a real work of art can never be replicated by viewing a reproduction, regardless of the medium.