dressage paintings

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

How compass success?

Joanna Zeller Quentin / AAEA, American, art show, artist, drawing, dressage paintings, equine art, horse, horse art, oils, showjumping, success /

The envelope was the first sign. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough rejection letters to know that those are always thin. After all, it doesn’t take much paper to say “Dear Ms. Quentin, After careful consideration we regret to inform you…” blah, blah “You suck”… “Sincerely, X” Usually one single spaced sheet of paper will do it.

But this envelope was thick. Not Birds in Art thick, where the forms come in a mythically huge 9×12 envelope (or so I hear), but weighty. Several sheets of paper inside. And we all know art shows require an absurd amount of paperwork.
So I was feeling pretty good as I started to open the envelope. At least one of them got in. I bet it was…

… not at all the one I was expecting.

That’s the second time that’s happened to me now with this show. I send my 2 picks, Steve chooses a third, and voila! the third pick is the winner. Maybe I should just let him pick all of them from now on!

But I am now preparing a piece of art to ship to Kentucky, to the American Academy of Equine Art’s Fall Open Juried Exhibition. The AAEA is one of my personal “Triple Crown” art shows. AAEA membership is limited to those who are juried into three of their yearly fall exhibitions, and the fall exhibitions are usually very heavy on the applicant side. To be juried in two years ago was amazing. To be chosen twice, after only the third time I’ve entered, is awesome. Assuming I ever get juried in again, I can then submit my body of work for review and possibly be inducted as a member. Heady stuff.

There are a few shows to my mind that establish you (me) as a serious artist – the AAEA, Birds in Art and Arts for the Parks. The Arts for the Parks show is sadly defunct, and that is a true shame, because the caliber of landscape and environmental art produced for that show every year was phenomenal. I am not and have never been a landscape painter, but it was always something I wanted to try. And Arts for the Parks was the pinnacle of landscape painting.

Birds in Art originated as a tiny exhibition at a small museum in Wisconsin, and over the years has grown into possibly the finest avian art show in the world. Competition is insane to be juried into each year’s show, and they often have hundreds or thousands of entries from all over the world. I’ve only entered once (got the thin envelope) but every year I prepare to submit a piece. I never actually DO (it’s a lot like my attendance record for the (former) Budweiser Grand Prix in Tampa, in fact) but I always WANT to. I will one of these days. Got the entry deadline (tax day, in fact) already on my calendar. I’ve got time until April, right?

And then there’s the AAEA. When I was younger and decided I wanted to try this whole “painting horses for a living” thing, they were the group whose name came up constantly. With a strong emphasis on realism, traditional works, accuracy and excellence, the AAEA show every year is a special treat for an equine artist. The artists in the AAEA shows are some of the very best in the field, and the quality of work is always spectacular. To have a piece hanging at this show is a huge honor, and I am very grateful.

So… what does all this mean? I’ve already learned that I don’t consider myself an artist just because I do art. I have to be doing good art, apparently, and in order for it to be good, it has to be appreciated by someone else. It’d be phenomenal if it was appreciated with large bills of currency, but, failing that… does this count? People put art in shows for lots of different reasons. Exposure, sales, collector value, CV and resume pumping… all those things. I do it for all those things. But I also do it because I believe in artistic excellence and personal vision. No one else has your voice, not in writing, or in speech, or in art. And the ability to show your voice on a gallery wall with others whose “voices” are judged to be excellent, well… that puts you in pretty good company, doesn’t it? And maybe, for some of us, that provides validation.
Now, on to the SAA, the Draft Horse Classic and the new bird painting!

Pulling out the orphans, plus…. dressage!

Joanna Zeller Quentin / dressage, dressage art, dressage paintings, equine art, horse, Joanna Zeller Quentin, Moose Pants Studio, MoosePantsStudio, oil paintings, paintings, Photography, portraits /

One of the advantages to being able to pursue both commissioned and self generated work is that I get to start on a lot of really cool paintings that I might never get the chance to work on if I were relying on a client commission. Many clients want a carefully controlled painting, starring themselves, their horses, their dogs or cats, their subject, etc, etc, etc. Since this is exactly what a “commissioned” painting is, I’m perfectly okay with that! If you as a client have the idea and the concept (and the money), I will paint whatever you want in any way you may desire. And hopefully at the end of the (painting) day, we both go away happy.

On the other side, there’s self generated work. This is work that is done either as a self promotion piece or a learning curve or to fit a possible show theme or simply because you have an idea that you want to try and capture in an “artistic” way. Since there’s no client looking over your shoulder, there’s no pressure to get it done a certain way, and lots of happy accidents can occur. On the other hand, unless you are shooting for a predetermined deadline (upcoming show, advertising, etc) there’s no real incentive for you to finish the thing quickly.

Sometimes these paintings sort themselves out wonderfully. They practically paint themselves, and at the end of the day, you have a nice new piece of art to hang, sell, use, enter, etc. And sometimes…

… there are the orphans.

Every artist knows what I am talking about. THOSE paintings. The ones that are just too cool to throw away, or the ones you’ve invested too much time/work/paint/frustration in to walk away from (or slink away in defeat), or the ones that are really kinda sorta NICE… if you can just figure out 1) what the problem is and 2) how to resolve it. Sometimes I’m rapturously in love with a single square inch of board, and that square inch is the sole reason for the painting’s continued existence.

This is one reason why art studios are usually pretty cluttered, by the way. It’s very hard to give up on a painting or drawing, and so they get stored away, tucked into portfolios and behind cabinets, and then they multiply like evil little failure rabbits. But every once in awhile, it’s nice to unearth them from the clutter, dust them off and see if you as the artist (and master of your own destiny) can make some magic happen.

I’ve got a bunch of show deadlines in the next few weeks. A ridiculous amount, actually, the kind of number that drives me from my bed at 4:00 in the morning to come into the studio. (Hello everybody!) And this is where the orphans come in handy.

As I write, there are 9 paintings/ drawings hanging out in the studio with me, propped up against walls or scattered on the floor. After carefully reevaluating them with fresh eyes (some of them have been in an unfinished state for several… years (sigh) now), I think there’s enough promise here in a few of them to pull out the old paintbrushes and make a concerted effort at finishing a few of the damn things, thus putting me at least a few hours ahead from the dreaded “blank canvas” stage I’d be in otherwise with deadlines looming and panic attacks and all that. Huzzah! So now instead of having to start and finish a few paintings by… oh, let’s say April 15th… now I only have to FINISH three of them. And that is much more workable. (And then start on May’s deadlines!)

Really.

Here are a few of my (favorite things) orphans that came under review this morning. If all goes well, hopefully you will see these guys in their completed incarnation this year in various and sundry venues.

And then, just for fun, here are a few of the almost 800 (yes, 800) pictures that I took at a dressage show today. The weather was nice, the horses were gorgeous, the drive was peaceful… not a bad way to spend a Saturday. These are the moments that make life as an equine artist worth living. Enjoy!