charcoal

The World in Black and White

Joanna Zeller Quentin / animal, art, art supplies, artist, black and white, charcoal, drawing, dressage, dressage art, dressage paintings, equestrian, equine, equine art, horse /

Every once in awhile, it’s nice to let your hair down. Instead of vibrant purples, singing reds and glowing blues, I turn to the most primitive of art making supplies – a stick of charred wood, more commonly known as charcoal. We’ve been scratching with burnt sticks on the ground since the first campfires. After someone got the bright idea to add pigments from the earth to the mix and draw on stones, humankind embarked on a love affair with drawing materials. (And now we will pause for a moment to go look with fresh eyes at the famous cave paintings from Lascaux. And, as always, I’m blown away by the sensitivity and energy that emanates from these most simple and elegant drawings. Ahhhhh. Thank you, Google.)

One of my college professors told us that black and white is the hardest palette to work with in the world. Color allows you to cheat a little, to play with moving the eye around, to call attention to certain details and leave out others. Black and white is stark, harsh, beautiful. There’s no room to cheat. It either works, or it doesn’t.

The past few weeks, I’ve been living in a black and white world. Coming back from surgery, I wanted desperately to do some art, but didn’t have the strength to pull out the oils. Enter the india ink wash, a technique I’ve seen done many times but never really done myself. Working with just three values diluted from full strength, out-of-the-bottle black, I built up the painting with layers of washes. It required a bit more concentration and planning than usual (see, color is a crutch!) but I’m very pleased with the results, and I look forward to doing more with this technique.

Patience, india ink on board

On the heels of that experiment, I decided to try charcoal washes on gessoed paper, another technique I’ve seen done but never tried. This was a full watercolor sheet piece, full of charcoal dust and water. And even though I broke down today and added white acrylic to the mix to pull out the highlights, there isn’t a scrap of color to be found.

Strictly Ballroom, mixed media on paper

Finally, I’m finishing up another commission sketch. Once this is approved, it’s on to the full 24 x 36 oil painting. Full body traditional graphites are not my strong suit, but I am pleased with how this is turning out so far. Just a few minor details to finish up and it’s off to the client for approval. Once she signs off on it, I can pull out my box of crutches and get started.

Joker, graphite on bristol, work in progress

Each of these pieces has a different look, a different feel, a different medium. But in all three, I was forced to rely solely on value, light and shadow to render a three dimensional (equine) object. I didn’t set out to learn or reinforce a lesson, but it’s pretty nice to look at them lined up together as a body of work. Almost like a black and white universe. Simple, huh?

Tools of the Trade

Joanna Zeller Quentin / art, art supplies, artist, Artists, brush, brushes, canvas, charcoal, dressage paintings, graphite, horse, horse art, paper, pen, pencil, watercolor /

Today I had intended to write about inspiration – those artists whose work inspires, educates and inflames me. But, as is so often the case, the best laid plans can go astray. As I wandered the aisles of the art store this morning intent on spending my gift certificate (spoils from placing third in this year’s Irving National Wildlife Art Show) I took in all the tools of the trade, those amazing but silent raw materials that allow artists to do what they do – create something out of nothing.

Rows and rows of paint tubes in every color of the rainbow. Stacks upon stacks of paper in every possible texture, size and shade. Displays of brushes poke their heads up vying for attention, all begging to be touched. Pastels, charcoal, pens, ink, canvas. All of it sitting mute on the shelf, waiting for someone to dig into them and make something. I want to buy ALL of it.

So what is essential to me in my studio? Understand, my current studio is not ideal. My husband and I share a studio space, and both of us have a LOT of stuff, so it’s a little cramped. It’s kind of dusty (despite my best efforts), the light is nice but uneven, and … did I mention it was cramped? But I have my half of the room and he has him, and we’ve each made the space ours and come here to do serious work.

The whole studio is dominated by a full wall of bookshelves. All the shelves are overfull, so there are also books stacked sideways on top and lined up on the sides, sometimes two and three rows deep. All our friends are here: Rembrandt, Sargent, Caravaggio, Audobon, Hogarth, Parrish, Wyeth, Rousseau, and Magritte. There are shelves devoted to the wizards of Disney traditional (and CG) animation, Byzantine iconography, art nouveau, art instruction, art theory, art history, figure drawing and animal anatomy. There are favorite books whose pages are smudged with paint or dusty with charcoal, and the books wear those marks like a badge of honor. Inspiration lives on those shelves, and I cannot count the number of times that being able to reach over and grab a book has saved the day… and the piece.

My drawing/ painting desk is an old architectural drafting table. The thing is massive, creaky and ancient. It tilts back and forth and slides up and down, and the surface is a much written upon self-healing matt. I’ve got all kinds of stuff scribbled on here, quotes from artists or authors, bits of songs or phrases that tickle my ear, admonitions and motivation. Since the matt is rubber, the words eventually fade away, and I can either rewrite them or add something new, providing a continuously changing inspiration board. At the moment, “The Wind of Heaven” is tacked to the board with snap clamps (another essential for me), along with a plastic glove from oil painting and a picture of my little sister.

Directly above my desk is more inspiration. The cork bulletin board is almost totally covered in tear sheets, photos, show dates, reminders, and a few odds and ends that I rather like. It’s a huge mess, but whenever I try to clean it off all the empty space makes me uneasy, so back go the photos. Some of these are future paintings, some of them are cool photos, and some of them are photos that would make wonderful paintings (or etchings), if only I could figure out how to do them. They live above my desk as a kind of permanent “tickle board”, and every once in awhile, I can pull a photo off and work a painting from it.

My oils live in a fishing tackle box, a holdover from college days. Watercolors and gouache have their own boxes, since they don’t play together very well, and my desk drawers hold a plethora of pens, inks, framing supplies, office stuff, oil pastels (I now have an entire drawer dedicated to my Sennelier oil pastels, and I am psyched!), painting mediums, and rags. All of my brushes live on my desk, loosely sorted by size and medium. My watercolor brushes are kept together in one of my water jars- an antique mason jar that has only gotten prettier with age, paint and use. I have two good lights and a comfy chair. The big Epson and my filing cabinets full of carefully sorted reference photos live on the other side of the room.

The only other thing that is absolutely integral to my studio is the dread machine I am typing on. Not only for the computer-y goodness, but because it holds quite a bit of my music collection, and it has a neat “shuffle” button. I can’t work in silence. (My husband, by contrast, works ONLY in silence, which explains why the two of us can’t work at the same time.) I listen to a wide variety of music when I’m working (or any time, really), anything from classical to Dixieland Jazz to Eminem. Right now I’m rocking out to Clare Fader and Janis Joplin, and in awhile I’ll pick up a brush and turn on Florence and the Machine and Muse. (Of course now it just shuffled to Mozart’s Requiem. Of course.)

Today’s art store haul included a bunch of yummy oil paints (and I even brought a list to prevent impulse buys!) and two wonderful new long handled brushes, both with excellent snap and a really nice feel in the hand. I can’t wait to dig into my palette later and try them out. I’ve got a few paintings to finish (and they’re so close to being done!) and it will be a great way to get to know these brushes and for them to get to know me. I think we’re going to be friends.

Turpentine and Ochre

Best of Both Worlds, or fun/work/fun

Joanna Zeller Quentin / art, artist, charcoal, dressage paintings, giclee, graphite, horse, inkjet, limited edition, oil, open edition, painter, paper, printer, reproduction, scratchboard /

I spent today doing art of a different sort. My project still required an inspired use of color, judicious contrast and value control, a nod towards tactile pleasure, and a desire to produce the best art I was able to create. But instead of paper and paint (or even pixels) today’s art consisted of fine art inkjet printing.

The subject of creating a print from your original artwork could fill a volume – several volumes, in fact – and there are plenty of good books out there on the very subject. There are also wonderful online communities full of dedicated users who spend countless hours discussing paper profile mismatches, black point compensation and the proper color gamut of alizarin crimson. There are those who rail against any kind of commercial art printing as a snub to traditional lithography, and there are plenty of people who throw around words like “archival”, “giclee” and “limited edition”, without any real grasp of what those words truly mean to the artist or their customer. There is a world of information out there, and it would take several lifetimes to learn all there is to know about this business of printing art.

This is what I do know. I can finish a painting, photograph it, convert it into a digital file, proof it, color correct it, proof it again (repeat as necessary), and create a beautiful piece of affordable art to pass it on to my collectors. They get a beautifully printed, high quality “copy” of an original they may not have been able to afford, and I make a little extra money. It’s a beautiful thing.

I’m fortunate that I have the ability to control every phase of my artwork, from conceptual idea to finished product in the client’s hands. Part of my college schooling was dedicated to computer illustration, typography and design. While I am by no means a computer artist (but my husband is! www.Gizmoart.net) I view Adobe Photoshop, InDesign, and Painter as tools in my arsenal. In fact, most of my “professsional” life has involved those programs. Over the past 10 years, much of my work has revolved around the world of fine art printing. There is still art and artistry in this. Creating a stunning fine art print is more than just running some great paper through a machine and pushing a button or two. (And trust me, there’s some really, really great paper out there.) Granted, the technology has gotten much better since the first inkjet printers were introduced and today’s machines produce great prints and are easier than ever to use, but an artist’s eye is still required to create the perfect print.

Why would that be? Because an inkjet print is, at heart, a digital creation. While the new printers are very, very good, there is still a huge difference between an original oil on board and a series of digitally controlled pigment ink droplets sprayed onto canvas. The magic of what has happened on your board is digitized, crunched, converted to code and reassembled on a computer monitor with different light, different colors, even a different “white”. It’s like comparing apples to… computer generated apples. Once you’ve taken a good photo (another art form in its own right) and the image has been reassembled as a digital file, the real fun/work/fun begins. When the image on your monitor finally matches the original art (variable 1), you must then print the image onto the chosen media (variable 2) and compare. I usually do side by side comparisons with a red pen handy, and scribble cryptic notes to myself like “not jello-y enough” or “perfect shade for murder”. Then I sit back down at my computer and make my color adjustments, going for a nice refined claret instead of a “homicidal” red, for instance. After I’ve corrected the image and saved my corrections as a new file, I print again and compare. That’s the process I repeat as long as necessary. Simple? Yes. Easy? No. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters to me is the piece of canvas that comes out of the printer. That is what is going to my client, and I want it to be the best print I am capable of creating.

Tonight I’m heading to a gallery opening for a customer of mine. He knows me from my 9-5, where I work with artists and photographers who print their own stuff, answering questions and giving advice on papers, printers, varnishes, ICC profiles and color corrections. On Sunday I have a gallery opening of my own to attend, with two of my paintings (well, a painting and a scratchboard) up for juried awards. In some ways, it’s the best of both worlds, and I am looking forward to both shows. But right now I will take my freshly created print and inspect it one more time, looking for any flaws. If it passes final inspection, I’ll number it (1/60, for a brand new edition) and finally sign my name, signifying that this, to me, is art. I made it, I created it, and I am proud to send it out into the world.

“Only the Lonely”

Limited Edition giclee inkjet print from an original graphite by Joanna Zeller Quentin 2011.

Limited Edition of 60, signed and numbered by the artist on 100% cotton rag paper, 18 x 24

www.MoosePantsStudio.com

“… a rose by any other name…”

Joanna Zeller Quentin / art, artist, charcoal, drawing, equine art, horse, horseback, horses, oil, painting /

“Only the Lonely” done- 12 minutes before the”official” deadline. It has gone off into the wide netherworld of cyberspace in little electronic swirls and whispers, and will hopefully coalesce in the designated email inbox as a fully realized, fully articulated sweeping ode to a magnificent equine in shades of burnished grey, evocative of isolation, fragmented beauty, windswept barren plains, the essential duality of light and dark, day and night, good and evil. Or maybe it will just look like a picture of a horse.

My bestest best friend in the whole wide world complemented me on my names today. “You always have the most clever, intelligent names…” which is high praise, coming from her. And it is true, I spend a great deal of time thinking about what I’m going to call a picture. If I can’t come up with the perfect name for it – before a single line has been drawn – it doesn’t happen. There have been a few exceptions to this rule, and almost all of them are half finished train wrecks of ink and paint. They lack that last little bit, the “je ne sais quoi” if you will, and I have to think it’s because of the name.

A name gives purpose, direction, attitude. My degree is in fine art, but my field of study for 4 years was Illustration, or “the visual representation of a thought, emotion, idea” etc. The naming of a piece, therefore, captures the mindset I want to be in while working on it, dreaming about it, scribbling it out. Hopefully, sometimes some of that makes its way into the actual art as well, but that might just be wishful thinking. And it’s fun, too. “Office Romance” presents not only the real life love affair of husband and wife cattle ranchers, but also presents what for many of us would be an ideal working environment – on the back of a horse with your sweetheart, breathing in fresh air and sunshine, roaming across the open country. “Red” is not only done almost entirely in a red color palette, but also reflects the common barn name of many chestnut racehorses, including Man o’ War and Secretariat. “Lope” shows a cantering, or “loping” horse, but was done as a fundraiser for LOPE (Lone Star Outreach to Place Ex Racehorses @ www.lopetx.org). And I must mention here that “Only the Lonely” was actually suggested as a name for another piece by my mother, but I immediately grafted it onto the then unformed drawing which was simply hanging out there waiting for the perfect name. So, thanks Mom!

Break’s over, baby

Joanna Zeller Quentin / art, artist, charcoal, create, creating, horse, horses, painting, sales /

Okay, okay. I admit it. I’ve been enjoying my two weeks off. Amid economic uncertainty and under much personal angst, I took my leave from my employer of four years. The time was right, ripe… perhaps overripe, with a distinct air of moldy about it. Meh. Had a couple of interviews, put out a resume or two, and kind of lazed around the house for the past two weeks.

Good news on a few fronts. I have kept my record of being offered every job I’ve applied for (two at the moment) AND it’s given me a chance to get back into the studio and actually do some art. Big shows are coming up- AAEA in particular- and that is hot on the heels of Muse I being accepted to the HITS Art on the Hudson extravaganza up in New York. It’s a big deal. The painting will be gallery hopping for a few months and then will be sold (hopefully) the same weekend as the new million dollar Grand Prix. Lots of exposure, lots of horse people, and hopefully lots of fun… if I get to go, and I hope to.

Back to the art. People who know me know that my studio is full of half finished pieces, and my head is full of even more that haven’t made it on to paper or canvas yet. I work on something, put it away, bring it back out, work on it some more, and then decide if it’s worth continuing or if it literally and figuratively belongs on the scrap pile. Some paintings don’t work out. They just don’t. And some of them come together brilliantly after a few months or even years. And don’t ask me how or why- I have no idea. One day I dig the thing out, look at it and think, “Ah! It wants…. purple! right there.” And, voila! done painting.

One of the nice things about commissions is that they usually have a set deadline- they HAVE to get done by X day or I don’t get paid and lose a customer. Same thing with shows. I tend to work to a show deadline, sometimes with several pieces at once, all vying for a spot on the entry form. Rarely these days do I do a piece just for fun. But that’s what I’ve been doing lately. No real pressure, no master plans, just ideas I’ve been kicking around in my head and want to get on paper. I’m trying to simplify- my art, my life, my everything. AE London (an artist who I admire greatly) talks about, “… the magic of deliberate mark making… the line itself can speak volumes.” And she’s right. Line, shape, form. The hardest thing in the world is to do a piece of art simply. The urge to overwork is overpowering. I have been accused of being “seduced by media” in the past, and so I’ve been very careful what I’ve been putting on the paper lately. Yesterday it was conte crayon. The day before, conte, charcoal and coffee. The day before that? Colored pencil. These may not be show pieces, and they may never be shown publicly or put in a portfolio or turned into prints. But they have been fun, and I’ve enjoyed the process of creating art, maybe more than I have in years.

I’m painting! I’m painting!

Joanna Zeller Quentin / Arisman, art, artist, charcoal, equine art, fear and frustration, figure drawing, horse, painting /

Well, my self imposed three month hiatus has officially come to an end… with the flourish of a paintbrush. Despite (or perhaps IN spite of) staying out of the studio for the past few months, I’ve managed to land three new portraiture clients, sell some giclees, get accepted to a few shows (including the AAEA Fall Open Exhibition- first acceptance- YEAH!!!) and distribute the remainder of my latest set of postcards- a fact I discovered when I finished compiling my latest mailing list, hit the print button and then happily trotted off to the box where the postcards live… only to discover there were only a handul left. So… in desperation I went through my portfolio looking for a new postcard piece, but nothing really jumped out at me… can you guess where this is going????

A few months ago (three, to be exact) I drew out a really cool charcoal of a horse- head on- with the most amazing lighting. It was from a photo I’d taken at the HITS show in Ocala of this amazing, drool-worthy jumper who was doing (get this) half passes and canter pirouettes in the warmup ring before his round. (I know, jumps 5′ easy AND does upper level dressage????? Good for his owner!) Anyway, I was going for more of an edgy look, heavy lines, deep shadows on rough textured gessoed Masonite, and I had some sort of vague notion that I wanted the charcoal to show through the oil. Maybe. But I drew it out and was so pleased with it that I sprayed the thing down with fixative… and then became completely scared to touch it. It was so cool, so nice, so… ALIVE… that I was immediately screwed.

(Side note- Marshall Arisman came to RSAD to do a few master classes while I was a student. We sat with him in a figure class and watched as he deftly carved out an amazing figure drawing with just a few strokes of charcoal in about 15 seconds. He stopped and stared at the drawing for a moment, and with one sweeping movement ripped it off the newsprint pad and cast it aside. The moan that went up from the surrounding class was audible -I know I groaned, as did everyone else around me- at the sight of this gorgeous drawing being thrown down on the floor. He turned around to all of us goggling students and said, “That was a really nice drawing, huh? I really liked the nose.” He paused and added, “Do you know why I threw it away?” We all shook our heads, aware that we would give anything to be able to draw so confidently and vibrantly as that. He went on, “Once I realized I really liked the nose, it was completely ruined for anything else. I’d be so afraid of ruining it, destroying that perfect nose, that nothing else I did would even come close.. and I WOULD ruin it.” That happened maybe 8 years ago, and I have not forgotten the lesson. For the record, he then went on to produce another three or four fantastic gesture drawings. Sigh.)

So, with Arisman’s dire warning ringing in my ears (I really like this, I really like this- CRAP, I’m going to screw it up!!!) I set it up next to my easel and stared at it for a few days. Days stretched into weeks, and finally I tucked it aside so I wouldn’t feel guilty every time I stepped in the studio. And there it sat… until Friday evening, when I pulled it out, threw a bunch of paint on it and got to work.

And… here it is on Sunday night. Paint is on, background roughed in, even a few patches of “Hey, that’s really kind of nice” are peeking through. If- and this is a big IF- because I haven’t hit the dreaded 90% done/throw everything away and become a dental hygenist phase- I can get it done this week it will be my new postcard. After all, I’m going to Kentucky at the end of this month (show opening, third wedding anniversary AND my first trip to the Bluegrass State- I’m so excited!) and I don’t think my 20 or so postcards will last for the whole trip. At least, I hope not!

I can’t get my digital camera (HP and ancient) to talk to my new Mac (shiny and pretty) so I can’t post a picture yet. But I will figure it out, and since I’ve been taking pictures of this thing step by step as it progresses (just for fun… also so that if I do totally screw it up I still have a really nice charcoal drawing there) I’ll post them when I can. (And when I figure out how to post pictures to this blog site!

Thanks for reading!