Thursday 30 October 2014

Hare-Brained

The next two Nautilus shells are drawn up in pencil. I need to tint another sheet of paper for the last one, but at least that's two more underway. They just need colour, but if I start now it will time to go to collect son from school and I won't have eaten. So stop for lunch, and blog.

Nothing much to show for the shells. At the moment they look almost like the first one, only there's no ink, and they have chambers and markings sketched in. Which are really interesting, because you can see the external markings from inside and...

But that's for later.

So instead it's me delving back into the past, in more ways than one.

As I have said before, I like to copy other artists. It's a great way to learn, and a time-honoured tradition for that very reason. Sometimes I copy drawings, or oil paintings, sometimes illumination, sometimes watercolours.

My son loves Durer's Hare. He has a picture book from when he was little, "A Child's Book of Art: Great Pictures First Words" (pub. Dorling Kindersley), which introduces words and concepts using images from great paintings in both Western and Eastern art and from antiquity (up the back it lists each image and who painted it and when). And in the Animals section is the Hare. 

I love this book. Good for children of all ages, including me.

So a few years back I did him a copy. It hangs on the wall in his bedroom and he still loves it (yay). I got it down to photograph it for this post and he was quite protective of it. "Will you have it long? When will you hang it back up? Be careful with it."

In order to do the copy I had to do quite a lot of hunting around on the internet, not just for images but also for analysis. I would love to see the original, but I don't think that will ever happen. The original painting is rarely displayed because it is now very fragile. It was, after all, painted in 1502. It was done in watercolour and bodycolour (aka gouache) on cream paper. Even in his own lifetime other artists were copying the Hare and learning from the way that Durer abandoned or adapted conventions of painting.

Feldhase, Albrecht Durer, 1502, watercolour and bodycolour on paper

One reason I would like to see the original (apart from just the breathtaking experience of seeing the original), is I would love to see the real colours of it. Have a quick search on the internet for images of it and see what I mean. Some are more yellow, some are more grey, others more red. Fortunately there is a lot known about the Hare and the colours it was painted in, so I went with those. Although it took a while to find a proper analysis (in an actual book). Most of what is published on the web is art waffle rubbish (the insctrutibility of the hare as indicative of man's inability to understand the mind of God, and so on. Please).

Over the years pigments can shift. They may be sourced from different places, the paints are made under different circumstances (a lot of paints have "fillers" these days, making the tones more muddy. Always buy the best you can afford, even if you have to build up your paints a tube at a time, or a jar of pigment at a time). Even the fact that our air make up has changed, with pollution, can alter a pigment. But all in all the colours are more or less right (unless you look at Venetian Red. It has shifted dramatically).

Hare, Megan Hitchens after Albrecht Durer, 2011, watercolour and bodycolour on paper

My version is not on cream but on off-white (I should have had the guts to start tinting back then. C'est la vie), but other than that is in the colours listed - ochres (red and yellow), sienna, umbers (burnt and raw) - with one exception. Durer had lead white gouache.

Oh, how I want a tube of lead white gouache. It has to be handled carefully, gloves and all, but it has an opacity that cannot be matched with substitutes. White watercolour and white gouache are not sufficient. White watercolour is not opaque at all, and white gouache is not opaque enough. And they are cooler in tone than lead white. Lead white has a warmth to it, it is more in the yellow, whereas Titanium white is more blue. Actually all the whites are more blue compared to lead white. I ended up using an "Opaque White" that I usually deploy in illuminations, and it was okay, but still not quite... right. Or enough. Or something.

As much as possible I worked as Durer did - put down areas of watercolour to build up form, shading, etc, then come back with gouache for the details. And oh, there is so much detail. The image appears remarkably quickly. The whole thing took less than an hour. But I did think I was going to go spare from all the little individual hairs. It would have been warmer on cream, but even so, it's not too bad. And I learnt so much from it, about technique and brushwork and paint, not least of which is 

I want lead white gouache

Ooh, look, it's school pick up time. But at least I've eaten

Tuesday 28 October 2014

Spiralling Inwards

Drawing One in the Nautilus set. Actually, Drawing Two, but it's the first one I have finished because it will set the size of the other three.

Nautilus Two - Construction, Megan Hitchens, 2014, black ink on tinted paper

I went and tinted another sheet of paper with yellow ochre (properly this time. Thanks to Mark Calderwood and Jo Abrahams), and cut it into sections. I need to tint one more sheet to have enough for the full set of four, and then I'll have leftovers for play.

Each piece is cut to the ratio of 2φ:2φ+1, same as the rectangles that build the spiral itself.

This was a bit of a challenge for me as I was working backwards. I can draw these in my sleep, providing I am working from a square outwards. But because I wanted the spiral placed precisely in the centre of the page, this time I had to work inwards. It took me a couple of tries to readjust, but once I came to grips with it the thing just sailed along. I really, really love Golden Spirals. All the construction lines are left in purposefully, and I have notations for the φ ratios at the side. Although looking at them now I think two of them are misplaced. They are correct, but would have been more helpful arranged a little differently.

All the construction lines are left in so that hopefully people can see how elements on the actual Nautilus shells, internal and external, relate to the geometry. The Nautilus is an amazing geometer. One of Nature's marvels.

So here's the question. I am thinking of putting ratio notation under the spiral, probably aligned with the left edge. Something like this:

0A = 1 
0B = φ 
0C =  φ 2 
0D = φ 3 
CD = φ 4

Should I do this or not? Would it be helpful or confusing or just pointless? I love how all these things relate to each other, but I know I am a bit weird, so I can't really see this one clearly. Suggestions?

(and, because I couldn't resist, despite the picture quality):

 

Monday 27 October 2014

Try, Try Again

Yesterday I struggled with this drawing. It was a Catweazle day pretty much from beginning to end. Nothing worked.

This morning I sat down fresh and looked at it anew. Completely rubbed out what I had done and started again. Twenty minutes later I had this.

Ghandi, Megan Hitchens, 2014, charcoal, white chalk on grey paper

It was going to be more than this. His crossed legs, the books and papers. But I got this far and it was enough. No tortillion either. I quite liked the lines. It doesn't need the dreamy softness of smudging.

This is the grey paper I was using to draw Arlene. But it has tiny pink fibres in it which I didn't notice at first. They make the tone warm, no good for sanguine but perfect for black and white. It ends up being a reverse of the norm - cool, warm, cool, rather than the more usual (and easier to work) warm, cool, warm. By which I mean light, medium, dark. It's normal to have a warm light, cool midtone, warm dark, but the warm grey flips that around. Still, I think it works here.

Ghandi is one of the historical figures I greatly admire. He gave up so much for his country, he gave the world structured civil disobedience, he tried so hard to keep India together after Independence. He was a towering intellect who understood the needs of ordinary people.

I love that he gave people ideas of how they could empower themselves. Simple things like making salt and spinning and weaving their own cotton. Things that the British Empire had taken from them in order to protect English business interests and monopolies. Challenging the use of entrenched poverty as a means of political control.

The film "Ghandi" never really grabbed me. Yes, it was a good film. But I always felt that surely an Indian actor could have been cast in the role. I doubt that Ghandi himself would have been happy with an Englishman in what was little better than black face playing out the story of his life. It was the last feeble dig of English Imperialism at the man who helped to bring down the Empire.

K.I.S.S.

Further to yesterday's post about drawing with coloured pencils, I found this image in my files (after a little looking. I had given it a strange name, so it wasn't where I thought it should be. Problem rectified), and it the only image I have of the original drawing, so I am relieved to have found it. The original sold. For a tidy sum. I love that someone else loved it enough to buy it.

Bactrian, Megan Hitchens, 2011, black pencil on paper

It is a baby bactrian camel. So unbelievably cute, and another glorious fibre animal.

This is even simpler than the Snow Leopard and the Bison, as it is one colour on white. Just a black pencil. Not graphite, not a 2B drawing pencil. A black colour pencil. That's all. Different pressure, different number of layers gives me different shades, from a pale silvery grey through to the deep black wells of the eyes.

You don't need a huge number of colours to make something beautiful (although you certainly can do that. Colour is a wonderful thing). Keeping it simple can work wonders too. There is a serenity to this that cannot be achieved with a broader palette.

Anyway, I'm happy with it.

Sunday 26 October 2014

Touchwood

I am having a bit of a Catweazle day. There were specific plans for today, but I have a child home sick. Again. So there it goes.

Son went to camp last week and had a ball. He came home more confident, more willing to do stuff for himself, but also worn out (good) and with no voice (bad). He spent the weekend cranky and croaky and yesterday his eating petered out. This morning? Temperature, sore throat, day in bed.

I had planned to work on the abstracts. About 2 am this morning I got a vision of a new one and desperately want to set up the imprimatura for it and put another layer on the other two. But no. Sooooo, drawing.

Made a start on a portrait of my friend, Arlene. Remember when I did Riyaz I said I wanted to do Arlene, but on grey? The paper is a beautiful colour, but it's wrong for this. So that needs a rethink. However, the colour is right for a simple drawing of Ghandi, which I have started, but something isn't right and I can't see what it is. So the best thing for the moment is to turn it over for a few hours and then look again.

I thought about working on the shells, but... I don't know... just no. Or at least not right now.

Like I said, a Catweazle day

"Nothing works"

So, in a desperate bid to feel productive, I thought I would regale you with "what you can do with coloured pencils".

You know, just basic Derwent colour pencils. Not watercolour pencils, just the ordinary ones. I bought them in a tin a couple of decades ago. They have lasted this long because I don't use them very much, but I have such fun when I do. I really should get them out more often.

Snow Leopard, Megan Hitchens, 2011, coloured pencil on paper

Anyway, these two drawings were done a few years ago. I like them both for two reasons. One, I think they are quite good (and I don't normally feel so satisfied with what I do) and two, they use very limited colours. There are only four in each one.

Bison, Megan Hitchens, 2011, coloured pencil on black paper

They were both done from photographs. The snow leopard, I don't know where it came from. One of my photos from a zoo visit? (I spent a lot of time at the snow leopard enclosure) One of the hundreds of photos of snow leopards around? I don't know. Sadly, there are more photos of snow leopards than there are actual snow leopards. And the more the Chinese government opens up access to Tibet, with the fast trains and what have you, the more their numbers plummet. Passage for poachers was greatly facilitated by the train and, with backhanders and bribes, the government does nothing to curb the trade in snow leopard pelts. Or at least nothing serious.

The bison came from an ad in Wild Fibres. I have read a lot about bison fibre, how soft it is, its thermal properties, and would love to spin some. Maybe one day. I have some yak fibre sitting waiting its turn. Mmm, fibre.

I digress.

The snow leopard is mainly black and yellow ochre with a little pink and a touch of sienna. That's it. I removed all trace of the background and any outline because I wanted it to just be in the page. The white of the paper became the background and the main colour of the leopard Minimal work, maximum effect.

The bison is yellow ochre, two browns and white. That's it. The black paper does most of the work for me, just as the white did with the snow leopard.

I keep telling my mum not to add hard outlines to her drawings and paintings. Sometimes it is a good idea and serves the outcome well, but a lot of the time it just flattens the image and makes it look odd. And there is a difference between a defined edge (such as along the bison's nose) and an outline. The trick is to see what's there rather than what your brain is telling you is there. Brains lie. Plus, one of the tasks of fur is to smudge the outline, making the animal harder to detect. Have you noticed that a lot of predators have fur while their prey have hair? Silly prey.

The point of all this is, I suppose, you don't need a lot of tools and materials to create something. Go for the best quality you can get (it'll last longer and give you a better result), but you can start with a small amount, or a limited number (which makes it easier to afford).

And the point for me today is to remember that not every day is a Catweazle day.

Tuesday 21 October 2014

Rise Up - What Happens in an Artist's Mind at 2 am

I don't normally write about the Abney Park drawings that I do, but I am making an exception this time.

The main reason I have been doing these drawings is to hopefully give a smile to some people whose creative abilities I respect and admire. It's such a small thing in return for such wonderful music. But it has benefits for me as well. I try to draw everyday, a task which is easier when there is a defined point to a drawing. So these are great practice. They are also their own challenge as they come with a deadline. I have missed three (one by five days, thanks to no internet connection) and made three. Normally the drawings are a product of my slightly bizarre sense of humour.

Kristina Erickson's drawing is a little different.

Rise Up, Megan Hitchens 2014, white, sanguine and black chalk

Nothing really funny about it.

I struggled with this. What you see above is the fourth attempt. Having not had the pleasure of seeing the band play live (one day...) and therefore not having my own photos and sketches to work with, I rely on photos by others for each of my drawings. I try as much as possible to not just copy, to bring something new, even if it is just a giant mutant upside down hamburger (I warned you about the bizarre sense of humour) or something new in the background, or altering the clothes. But most of the photos online of Kristina are her playing the piano or keyboard (outstanding pianist), or looking beautiful. Or looking beautiful and playing the piano. I could have done a simple portrait, but not having my own photos to reference, or permission to reference someone else's, I am really uncomfortable doing that.

And then the germ of this idea appeared in my head. About 2am, which seems to be the normal arrival time for such things. Have nightmare or strange dream. Wake in fright or confusion. Think about drawings. That's the way it goes.

So I did some quick sketches to work out poses, layout, what have you. I looked at LOTS of posters from the Paris Uprising and the Russian Revolution and the early years of Soviet Russia. I thought a lot about "Retrograde" and how I feel about it and why.

"Retrograde" is the sequel to "Wrath of Fate". Both are books written by Robert Brown, about Abney Park's adventures in a time travelling airship called the Ophelia. They are fantastic. I love them both, but gosh they make my brain churn. You can buy them here.

They deal very much with ideas of survival and oppression and revolution. Changing the world, for better or worse. Responsibility and consequence. Notions of humanity and freedom. Being the change you want to see (thanks, Ghandi).

And Robert Brown writes Kristina as one of the great literary heroines. Which is sort of where the drawing comes from.

There are two characters in the books who seek to change the world "for the better", although they have very different ideas of what that means. There is Robert, who, on finding he has become captain of a time-travelling airship, decides to go through history fixing things. Righting wrongs. Saving lives. Big picture stuff. Noble. Well-intentioned. As you do.

For instance, he goes to the Seige of Arcot and lends a hand. I loved that chapter. A strong independent India just under 200 years before it actually happened. But after the initial "Yay! Up yours, Clive!" reaction, I couldn't help thinking, "There goes Ghandi". There goes Bangladesh, now I come to think of it. My birth country would just have been a province in India, a state if it was lucky.

Then there is Victor, who wants to save the world - from humanity. He has big plans and the means to execute them. He puts people in place who will solve the problems he perceives and he deliberately asks no questions about how they achieve the ends. His goals are noble. He is  well-intentioned, after a fashion. But he sees humans as less than the animals he seeks to save, and he sees himself as greater. He also sees himself as right in all things.

The world Victor and his followers fashion is strange and brutal, cruel and oppressive. Most of humanity is confined to walled cities, kept in the dark and the dirt and the squalor so that those at the top can be comfortable and well-cared for. The animals engineered and resurrected are released into the wild, to feed on those who have escaped the cities, to feed on those the state no longer needs. It is a terrible vision.

So there are our two world changers. Two men doing their big picture stuff. While the real world changer is someone else who tries to get people to change themselves.

Victor is not touched by the horrors he metes out to other lesser mortals. Robert, while suffering trials and tribulations and trying desperately to save his family, does not experience the worst of the new world. Kristina does. She is shot and captured while trying to save her children and ends up as little better than a slave in one of the cities.

It is often the way of things that the person who lights the flame is not the politician on the podium, or the general leading from the rear, or anyone else making "the grand gesture". It is someone caught up in what is really happening. Someone who has to experience the real consequences of the actions of those higher up. Someone who not only says "enough" but who finds a way to get others to say it too. These are the real heroes, the real world changers. And they often go unsung because their action is not grand.

I love literary Kristina, the way she struggles on while the world tries to beat her down. She fights back with what she has - her wits and her words. Uncovering a terrible, haunting truth she finds a way to make others see it, to see a thing that wakes them to what their lives really are. Those who see make their own decisions, carry the message further, find a way to identify each other.

Even with the jackboot of authority literally on her neck, Kristina continues to defy the oppressors, to use her words and her very defiance as weapons. What more could you want in a literary heroine? Beats the hell out of Anna Karenina.

The posters of the Paris Uprisings and Soviet Russia have long fascinated me and I have spent the last few days getting re-acquainted. Yet again I was struck by a number of things. Firstly, the use of women.

In the French posters women are largely symbolic (and not just in France. Look at the example from the US on the right below). They stand in for ideas, such as Liberty and Equality. They are not dressed for fighting or for work, they are there for inspiration for men. In the Soviet posters women are workers, revolutionaries, heroes. Okay, they are idealised, but the men are idealised too. The women are portrayed as active members of the Revolution. I am not saying Soviet Russia was a feminist utopia, there was never a female head of the politburo, for instance, but it was not the same as the West. And it was not unusual to have women as the central active figures on posters. They were there to inspire everyone, just as the men were.

See what I mean?

Another thing that has often had me wondering is the way posters reflect the rewriting of history. You find people or events being used in particular ways that don't necessarily reflect the facts. Maybe they are reflecting the spirit of the facts rather than the facts themselves. Maybe they are compressing a complex narrative into a single composite image. Maybe the person portrayed no longer quite fits the current political agenda (but is still popular) and so their actions "need" to be massaged. Maybe the story has been "improved" for impact or convenience.

That's sort of what my drawing is. It is an imagining of a poster that might have been made after the events of "Retrograde". Whether her name is known or not, some have recognised Kristina as a revolutionary figure. But gone are the bloodied feet and battered body. She strides proudly in her worker's uniform and military hat, leading an automaton child while humans and automata alike, their banner proudly unfurled, attack a factory/change cage topped by government offices. This isn't a moment that happened. The truth in the story was very different and much more brutal and frightening, its outcomes far more uncertain. But hey, that's propaganda for you.

And if you go looking at Soviet posters you'll find the factory-like structure and some of the figures behind Kristina. I have more or less lifted them from a poster from 1920, called "Death to Venture Capitalism". It's a great poster, catchy title, a bit weird. I was going to put "Rise Up" in Russian on the drawing, in the same style, but my Russian is almost non-existent these days, and the image is probably better without it.

The revolutionary automata are based very heavily on Gyrod, an automaton who features in "Wrath of Fate" and "Retrograde". I did this on purpose and offer apologies to Robert Brown and to Juan Pablo Valdecantos Anfuso (the illustrator) for borrowing their wonderful imagery. It's funny, I went through both books looking for illustrations of automata that I was sure were there, only to find they weren't. It turns out that most of the pictures I thought were in the books had been drawn by words, not by pencils or pens. Don't you love a book that can do that?

And what else could I choose for music other than "Rise Up"? (warning. One swear word contained therein)


Thursday 16 October 2014

Through Not Quite Rose Coloured Goggles...

Not a lot has been going on on the art production front. Lots of things this week with the house and family and whatnot. One of the things I had to do was take the Steamgoth up to Newcastle for an appointment.

She has Irlen Syndrome, which is a form of dyslexia. It is treated, very effectively I might add, with coloured lenses. Two years ago I sat in a room at the Irlen Centre and listened to my child read, first in the halting, uninflected, disjointed way she had always read, skipping words, mistaking words, stumbling, no regard for punctuation. Then she held the carefully worked out colour combination of lenses to her eyes and for the first time in her life read fluently and with beautiful inflection and rhythm. Afterwards she said to me that she had never understood about punctuation because she had never been able to see it on the page in the jumble of the letters and all the shifting colours (without her glasses her eyes see all the refracted colours from the white, rather than just the white page).

AmbassadorMann Goggles, but hey, they're tinted.

Yesterday it was time for a check up. Have her lenses faded? (No, she takes really good care of them) Have her eyes altered? As in, is the current colour still right or does there need to be an adjustment? (Yes, just slight, but it does mean she'll be without her glasses for about three weeks. SHE asked if that could happen after her exams. Progress.) Her reading without the glasses has improved dramatically, but still not as dramatically as her reading with them.

Since getting the lenses she reads for pleasure, and is writing a novel. This from the child who would move heaven and earth to avoid reading or writing ANYTHING.

If ever you hear anyone say that the coloured lenses are useless, tell them to do more research, or talk to those who use them.

But I digress, because the Steamgoth isn't the subject of this post (well, not that I had planned).

As I wrote above, the appointment was in Newcastle. Wallsend to be precise. When we were finished (it took about an hour and a half - the process is quite involved), we wanted lunch. Having forgotten to ask some Newcastle friends for a lunch recommendation I decided that we would just drive in to Darby Street and see what we could find.

Newcastle skyline. Worth fighting for.

Darby Street is cafe central. It is not, however, ATM central. So we walked up the Hunter Street Mall to the ATM at the Newcomen Street corner. There used to be a Commonwealth Bank there, back in the days when banks provided a service rather than gouging us all for profits. My father-in-law was the manager of the business branch two doors down. There is still, thank goodness, an ATM.

Walking past the park in King Street was a little distressing. There are still large trees, but the Moreton Bay Figs are notable for their absence.

I haven't been in the Mall for years and the last time there were lots of empty shop fronts. It was dismal, largely deserted. Sad. Still licking its wounds from the earthquake so long before. Now it is a transformed space. Full of people, interesting shops, stalls (got some amazing doughnuts. The Steamgoth's was called The Goth. Mine was strawberry and rhubarb). I don't like to use the word "vibrant". It is so overused. But I can't think of a better one. So there it is, it was vibrant. The Steamgoth was very impressed. Wyong has nothing of interest for her and she was looking at the posters for clubs and the exhibition sign at the Gallery (Elliot Gruner. I wish we had had more time. I would have liked to see that), and all the cafes and shops. And as she said, the air is nicer.

There isn't a huge amount of parking at the top end of town, but the train stations were being well-used. The state government's plan to rip up the line is nothing short of vandalism. A decision proposed by crooks seeking a tidy profit and finalised by people who have no idea of Newcastle and care even less what ordinary people want or the city needs.

State govt proposal for Newcastle when the train line goes

We had lunch at a nice sushi place in Darby Street and then drove through Hamilton and Lambton and Jesmond, heading back to the link road to the M1, the Steamgoth's latest favourite, Bowie's Life on Mars, on repeat on the car stereo. All the while I was thinking, "I remember this part. So-and-so lives not far" or "we lived just over there" (the kids hate those detours, so I didn't do that yesterday. Although if we hadn't had to get back to pick up my son from school some of you may have had some unexpected visitors).

And I thought what I always think when I visit Newcastle (and which gives the spouse the horrors), I could move back tomorrow, without hesitation. It has its problems, everywhere does, but it's where I grew up and more than anywhere except Scotland it feels like home. Yesterday, driving around and walking from Darby Street to Hunter Street, I was so happy to be back. Today, sitting in Wyong, putting off cleaning up, I am filled with saudade. And all I want is to return.

And until the kids finish high school and the spouse retires, it isn't going to happen. So I'll raise a glass to the city of my youth and get back to normal life here. And go and do the cleaning.


Friday 10 October 2014

Dear Diary

Still drawing Nautilus shells and planning the final drawings. I used to hate doing this in high school. The whole "process diary" thing used to get under my skin. Most artworks DON'T need it. I know what I am painting or drawing and I go with it. Maybe there's a sketch or rough draft. Maybe a test layout for a calligraphy piece, but that's it. Most of what I need can be carried out in my head first. A diary is, usually, not needed. I had several arguments with art teachers throughout my high school years. And proved on each occasion that all that malarky had not been necessary.

But occasionally something comes along that requires a bit more, and the Nautilus drawings fall into this category, partly because it is drawings plural that all have to work together, partly because I am doing quite different things with each of them and I am not sure about one of them. It still needs to be resolved. Several pages of the sketch book I keep by the computer seem to have become a mini process diary. Who'd have thought?

Look, a diary page. With things on it.

There are three drawings so far. There'll be at least three more. Plus the plans for the framing. Plus the finished works.

At this rate I may have acceptable documentation for HSC art.

Thursday 9 October 2014

I'm a Golden Meanie

As in I am a huge fan of the Golden Mean. Or the Golden Ratio. Two quantities are in the Golden Ration if their ratio is the same as the ratio of their sum to the larger of the two quantities. Wikipedia has a good illustration of this. Look at the diagram at the top of their page, on the right hand side. If you look just below that diagram you'll see a Golden Rectangle. I love those. The Golden Ratio or Mean is commonly expressed with the Greek letter φ (phi). φ is an irrational number, like pi and has a value of 1.61803398874989..., usually written as 1.618.

Actually, I love geometry. I sucked at maths at school, partly because my brain is not wired that way, partly because I couldn't see any relevance for it. I still glaze over when I hear sine, cos and tan (and don't try and explain them, please. Lalalalalalalala). I can do long multiplication and long division, I can keep accounts and manage money. I don't need any more. And I love geometry.

Not trigonometry, geometry. The way the Greeks did it. With a straightedge and pair of compasses. You can draw any geometric shape or relationship with a straightedge and compass. No measurement marks, no protactor or set square. Fabulous. And I love sacred geometry. It is kind of nuts, but it is fun.

When I was in University way back when, I came across a series of articles by Robert Stevick on the use of geometry in Insular manuscripts. Dr Stevick is a mathematician, so that was his focus. I already knew a little of sacred geometry (it is used in quite a slab of Renaissance paintings) and I recognised the forms he was writing about. I looked at the pages he detailed and realised that the geometry was telling a story. It was more than just about beautiful structure (although that was in there too), it was about narrative. Suddenly something mathematical was relevant and my mind lapped it up.

I got really excited, I mean really excited, and ended up researching and writing a paper on the subject in my third year. If you have access to Project MUSE you can actually read it here (it is weird seeing your own name on a paper on the internet). I have been hooked ever since.

Recently I had an idea for a set of drawings based on a Nautilus shell that is in the Macleay Museum at the University of Sydney. I decided to do a little research on Nautilus shells and found a lot of people saying it forms a Golden Spiral based on the Fibonacci Sequence. In other words, it is a 90degree rotation Golden Spiral. Which it isn't. You can see that by looking at it. Its curve is much more gradual and fluid, amongst other things.


There are lots of videos on YouTube and articles on the net about how to draw a Fibonacci Spiral and about the Golden Mean and Golden Rectangles, some better than others. Most show Nautilus shells.

The Fibonacci sequence is 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,... Basically you add the first two numbers to get the third, then the second and third to get the fourth and so on. To make a Fibonacci spiral you construct squares with sides equal to each number in the sequence, rotating though 90 degrees as you go. Draw an arc through each and you make the spiral. What a lot of sites don't tell you is that the spiral is also made up of nested Golden Rectangles, although it is not a true Golden Spiral as it starts with two identical squares (a true one uses only Golden Rectangles). Close, but no banana.  It's not the Golden Spiral I am looking for.

So I tried to work out what was going on in a Nautilus shell and found this article. A 180degree rotation Golden Spiral. It all made sense. Except that when I looked at the diagram for the spiral I couldn't work out some of the numbers.

Eventually, after taxing my spouse's maths wiz brain, and then playing with compasses and straightedge, I worked out the obvious. All the rectangles are Golden Rectangles. All the ratios are Golden. It all fell into place. And I am suddenly drawing Nautilus shells like there is no tomorrow. They are no longer the Macleay shell (no real shell is a perfect Golden Spiral - nature likes order but it doesn't believe in straightjackets), but they will serve my purpose well.

The original diagram by Gary Meisner

Spouse initially gave me complicated decimal numbers to divide or multiply each line by to give me the lengths of other lines. But I got to thinking about that. There had to be an easier way. After all, Pythagoras knew nothing of Silicon Heaven. Hence the playing with compasses and the dawning realisation of the Golden Rectangles.

Here's an amazing thing about phi. Phi is 1.618, as I said at the beginning. If you add one to 1.618 you get 2.618 (big deal), which is also phi squared. Phi squared is the same as phi+1. So that large rectangle for the first four rotations of the Nautilus spiral is 2phi:2phi+1 or 2phi:phi+phi squared. I'm going with the first version because I can see the Golden Rectangle expressed in it. Gives me goosebumps just looking at it. I know, I know, I am weird.

Here's my reworking of Meisner's diagram.

On the diagram I have marked more or less the order in which points were made. I've deliberately left in some of the construction lines. The length of lines is marked in green. Look at the number of times certain measurements repeat themselves and the way everything expands but continues in proportion. The curves are labelled as rotations. They aren't arcs, they are not that regular. I have not marked "rotation 1" because it isn't. There are clearly others before it, constructed in smaller and smaller Golden Rectangles (don't hassle me, I'm not putting them in. I can draw them well enough without). The original square, from which all this was drawn, with just a straight edge and compasses, is marked in red. Its length is designated 1 and represents one unit rather than a measurement of something particular. This could go on forever, spiralling in and out, but that's the size I want.

There's so much you can do with geometric construction. Draw squares from circles, make perpendicular lines, draw Golden Rectangles (you sick of those yet? I never am), make hexagons, triangles, pentagons, octagons, fractals, carpet pages. You name it. Anyone interested?

Wednesday 8 October 2014

Watching Paint Dry the Right Way

One of the great things about the web is the instantaneous nature of response. I put up my post yesterday and got instant feedback (I think I gave a friend a heart attack).

Needless to say, over-reading, over-thinking and over-analysing, seasoned with a good dose of impatience and not following advice means I did the tinting thing wrong.

Here's what I should have done - listened to Mark Calderwood and Cennino Cennini in the first place. Do each layer, allow to dry in between. Let the paper dry thoroughly. THEN weigh it down if it needs flattening out.

AND ACT WITHOUT FEAR.

I have never dealt with tinting heavy paper (hell, I have never tinted any paper before) and get frustrated by the way lighter papers buckle when wet. Really annoying when you are painting on them. Ticks me off no end. Heavy paper is a somewhat different beast. As I have found out.

Here's Jo's, my printmaker friend, comment on what I did:
...we soak our paper before putting it through the etching press. It is thick paper, but it should be a similar principle to this. Don't stretch it. The paper should return to its original shape. We soak it until saturated and then place it on a towel (towel on both sides) to absorb the excess before going through the press. Otherwise, the inks can run. We then lay them flat on a plastic coated rack (I've used the clothes airer in the past and if I'm concerned about the spacing of the racks, I have laid it face up on another clean towel to slowly dry). With smaller sheets, you can hang them from a line from one end (clipping carefully with pegs). Once dry, If you have rippling, or it's not sitting flat, you can press it under a heavy weight (or use clamps) between some timber sheets, or if you have access to an etching press, run it through that . You can also iron the paper, too. A few more ideas to try, but I would definitely avoid stretching the paper. I don't think it will respond in a positive manner
 So I stand chastised. However, I would be reticent to iron the paper as pigments can have reactions to that sort of heat. Mark followed up Jo's comment:
Pre-wetting helps the pigment disperse a little more evenly, but remember that's not the point of hand tinting where you are trying to create depth, movement texture with colour. Keep this sheet and repeat, build up another layer and see where the experiment takes you- it will give a richer, more dynamic ground and suggest more possibilities for the design. I let mine dry naturally on newspaper because I'm lazy and press under books if I need to, although I find with heavy papers that's not really necessary.
 I am lucky to have knowledgeable friends who aren't afraid to share.

There was one upside of this. Having done the wrong thing with this sheet of paper, all fear of it has been removed. I have, hopefully, done the worst to it that I can, so the only way now is up.

I took Mark's advice and re-wetted the paper, ready for another layer of colour and watched in amazement as the paper relaxed and the corners, where the real stretching had taken place, unwrinkled and contracted. The page had been trimmed square. It developed a decided bow along the two long sides.

Two more layers have now been added (one yellow ochre, the next yellow ochre and a touch of echtorange, so it is slightly more golden). Wrinkles are down to slight ones in three corners. Bowing is still there. I'll just retrim at the end. Mea culpa. And the paper hardly buckles anymore, only when wet. Which I find interesting.

Here 'tis, drying.

So if you have found this in your trawls for information, or if you have linked to this from my previous post, here's how you (and I) should proceed:

Thoroughly wet your paper. Don't be afraid of what it will do. Everything will be okay in the end. Using a broad soft brush or a sponge or rag (depending on what you are after), apply your very dilute pigment (check out Cennini's recipes for this if you want to look at something from the late medieval period, but if you use lead white DO NOT TOUCH THE STUFF WITH YOUR HANDS. WEAR GLOVES, FOR PITY'S SAKE. YOU CANNOT BE TOO CAREFUL). Claxxon done.

Work evenly and quickly. You can wash or wipe it off if you think it is too dark or if you want even dispursement, or it is wrinkling alarmingly, or you can leave it as is. Interestingly, now I read Cennini with a clear head, he says you should only need to remedy the wrinkling straight after the first layer. I understand that now.

Allow to dry. Repeat. Cennini recommends three to five coats. Mark says go till you're happy. I'd agree with Mark. I'm after a particular effect and I'll keep going till I have it.

If it is not flat when you are done and it is dry, follow Jo's advice above for flattening it out again. But I would avoid ironing it without plenty of research on how heat affects the particular pigment/s you have used.

So that's it. Paper tinting, as it should be done.

I have a drawing I need to finish (hang the grocery shopping for the time being) and then I am going to bore you all rigid with geometry. And numbers. And the amazing things you can do with a compass and straight edge.

Duck and cover, guys.

Tuesday 7 October 2014

Watching Paint Dry (The Wrong Way)

**ALERT ALERT INFORMATION IN THIS POST IS WRONG. RIGHT INFO IS HERE**

Yesterday was an experiment day. I had my first go at tinting paper. I had a longish conversation over Facebook with my friend Mark Calderwood, who has achieved truly wonderful effects with paper tinting. I also read through some books I had and looked up various things online. Although you have to be careful with that last one. Anyone can publish anything, and it's vital to sort the rubbish from the good stuff. I also looked at what Cennino Cennini had to say on the matter. I ignored his recipes (lead everywhere. How that man lived to 70 I do not know) but greatly enjoyed reading about his method. That's going on the experiment list too (minus the lead). I also thought long and hard. In the end, rightly or wrongly I settled on the following:

Remember that lovely paper I just happened to find in a folder? That's the paper I'm using. First up I securely taped a sheet to a board. I think the paper has been subject to moisture at some point. It is a little buckled and on one piece (or so I thought) there was some spotting (I set that sheet aside). But despite the buckling I laid the paper as flat as I could.

Next was to wet it down. Already the paper started to buckle more.

Wet and doing what it wants.
I diluted some yellow ochre water colour and then quickly applied it with a wide brush. First left to right, then right to left, then top to bottom. Then I turned the page upside down and went top to bottom again (why not make gravity my friend?).

Tinting done.
 Interestingly, and somewhat distressingly, once the tinting was done and it was starting to soak in, spotting appeared in one corner, identical to the damaged sheet. I went and checked the others and there are three more with the same problem. I have to hold them up to the light to see, but it's definitely there. Those sections will be trimmed off. Fortunately the damage is very localised so I won't lose much from each sheet.

Spotting in top right corner has appeared.
My friend Mark recommended putting the sheet in the bath to even out the colour and make it more subtle, but I lack his courage. In the meantime I stretched the paper again, covered it with felt and a sheet of blotting paper and another board and weighted it down with all the books from one of my art book shelves (those things are heavy) and left it overnight. Mark suggested letting it dry fully and then weighting it and I'll try that next time (with the bath thing).

This is the result:

Some streakiness, some corner wrinkling, but not bad
The colour had become a lot less intense, although that could be because of the blotting paper and felt as well as the effects of drying.

I trimmed off the wrinkliest edge, which also, luckily, corresponded with the worst of the spotting. There is still some more spotting to cut off, but I'll do that when I cut the paper to the sizes I need.

What I do need to do is purchase some plywood specifically for tinting and stretching. The top board wasn't quite the same size and you can see the line of the edge along the top of the paper, even with the felt in between. The surface texture isn't damaged and the flat part is really very flat. I'm wondering if I should re-wet and restretch to remove the corner wrinkles.

And yes, it's streaky. Next time I will definitely follow Mark's advice to the letter. He gets great results. But the streakiness will actually suit what I am planning, I think. Visually active.

And now to wrestle with the Golden Mean.

**ALERT ALERT INFORMATION IN THIS POST IS WRONG. RIGHT INFO IS HERE** 

Monday 6 October 2014

Lost Treasure


First day back at school after holidays. Child home sick with fever. Lovely.

And I should be working on airships, but I have still been looking for the lost references (giving up for the time being). And sorting through art stuff in my workroom.

There is a large folder which I thought I knew what was in it, so I haven't opened it in ages. Lots of painting exercises. But I decided today to check (maybe the loose sheets were in there? No). The painting exercises were there and it was fun going through them, looking at how my technique had developed, critiquing each one as it came out. Cringing at some. But there were other things too. A whole lot of sketches, some going back to high school, some from a series of masterclasses I took at the AGNSW (George Gittoes and Wendy Sharp, amongst others). And up the back a stack of blank paper. Canson coloured papers (not bad), something indeterminate but quite nice. Something vile that was yellowing badly and seems to have induced spotting on the neighbouring sheet (that's now in the recycling bin), and a whole pile of Arches drawing paper.

Really good quality, properly watermarked, 30 inches. Creamy, lightly textured. Very nice. About ten sheets or so.

I have no idea where this paper came from. I certainly didn't buy it. I wouldn't be able to afford that much of paper like this. But there it is. In my folder.

Back when I was sixteen and doing school by correspondence I had a number of friends I knew through the Blake's Seven Fan Club (so sue me). A couple of them were local, and when my health would allow we would get together for a quiet day. Nice girls, Kathy and Simone. I have, unfortunately, lost touch with both of them. They knew I could draw and paint (I did enough illustrations for the club newsletter), and one day Kathy suggested we meet at her cousin's house. Turns out her cousin had been a book illustrator but was getting out the game (don't know why). So I got given her supplies.

There was a beautiful box of brushes - sable and squirrel mostly (squirrel brushes are lovely to use). I remember there were some pencils too (long used up). Maybe the paper came from her? Seems unlikely.

I also inherited a number of items when my mum's brother died nine years ago. Uncle Jack was a fantastic artist. He could have had a real career at it, but chose instead to be a draftsman (it's all tied up with the Depression. Just the way things turned out). When he died a number of his supplies came to me. His paint box, his metal palette (with the dried paint from his last painting spree on it. I am not using that. I would have to clean it and I don't want to). His Schminke watercolours in their lovely metal box. Maybe the paper came from him? Uncle Jack was quite tight with money, but he never scrimped on art supplies, so that's possible.

Either way, no matter where it came from, the paper is now mine. And I have plans, at least for one sheet. Currently it is out in the meals room, taped to a board, waiting to be tinted a pale, pale yellow ochre. And when it is dry it is going to be introduced to the Golden Mean Spiral.

Friday 3 October 2014

The Cover Girl

Found this today when I was going through some stuff in my work room (still looking for the burnishing reference. Combining two loves, art and sheep.

Leicester, coloured pencil on black paper, Megan Hitchens, 2010

It's coloured pencil on black paper. I was trying out various things on black paper, to see what works and what I like. I quite like the coloured pencil (and it scans well). I prefer white chalk and soap stone, which I have started using quite recently, but that scans and photographs really badly. The soap stone is very reflective. What is a lovely soft subtle silvery grey on paper becomes strong and harsh in a digital image. So you won't see those until I can resolve that issue.

The original photo from which I took this graced the front cover of the Fall 2009 issue of Wild Fibres Magazine, a wonderful magazine about fibre production around the world and the importance of supporting local and traditional producers.

This is the original cover photo. It was, as always, a great issue.

Because it is copied from a photo I don't think I can sell the drawing, but it was only meant as an exercise anyway. I quite like the way they are not the same. Each has its own thing happening. Somehow my Leicester turned into a dramatically coloured black-faced sheep. And she doesn't have the "What you looking at?" attitude of the cover sheep. But then, drawings should have their own personality, otherwise you may as well just go with the photo.

Using coloured paper is the same as using a coloured imprimatura for painting. You can let the colour do a lot of the work for you, and it automatically sets up a unity to the drawing or painting. The  thing that takes practice is knowing what to leave and what to cover over. And that knowledge only comes with experience.

Which is a good excuse to do lots of drawings.

I love coloured paper. And coloured pencils. And coloured sheep.

Handle with Care

I am trying, and failing, to find some documentation for some thing. I was going to spend part of the day painting, but instead I spent it looking through my old notes and trawling the internet, with no success.

I came across a facebook page about pre C20th painting. The woman who does it is not bad, but some of her practices are quite dangerous. I suggested she take a different approach and she asked for documentation. Which is fair enough. I just can't find it and I know I had it.

And looking through the internet... well, I won't be surprised if I have nightmares. The amount of misinformation, and dangerous misinformation at that, is just breathtaking.

The issue is gesso. That's a plaster-based treatment for panels for painting and gilding. There is a whole process to making the gesso, both grosso and sottile, and it was well-documented on the page in question, and well carried out. The gesso made had lead white in it, which is highly toxic but gives a superior result as it makes the gesso more durable and flexible (you can't bend it, it will crack, which is why you don't put it on canvas, but it is definitely less fragile with the lead white, and hardens better).

You have to use a well dried wood panel for gesso. Not kiln dried, but properly cured. It has to be sanded to a very smooth finish. And then coated with a size. Rabbit skin glue is usual. You treat both sides of the panel. Then you can apply the gesso. Thin coats are the order of the day, and again you apply to both sides, to minimise warping. You let it dry. You can scrape it with a flat blade to get off any little lumps, but if you have done your job well it shouldn't need too much. Then the fun begins.

Polishing.

Start with a damp piece of linen and use circular motions. The trick is to have the linen damp enough to be effective, but not so damp that it dissolves the gesso, and not so dry that it leaves marks. And don't be heavy handed. And take your time. I know that sounds like a palaver, but it is quite meditative. And when that is all finished you can burnish it with silver. I use an old spoon. It comes up a treat. You end up, if you have done it all correctly, with a surface that is perfectly smooth, with an egg-shell-like finish.

But Cennino Cennini, in "Il Libro dell'Arte", written some time before 1440, writes about smoothing out the initial coat of Gesso Grosso with the palm of your hand. This is a lead gesso he is talking about. He also writes of stirring the Gesso Sottile with your hand, as if making pancake batter.

Lead is very toxic. Lead poisoning causes, amongst other things, brain damage, vomiting, abdominal pain and eventually death. You can breathe it in (remember leaded petrol? The fumes were why we don't have it anymore), you can ingest it, and you can absorb it through your skin. Skin is porous. Cennini wasn't doing anyone any favours. (Although if you want documentation for gesso methods and recipes, he's the go to man. Keeps it simple, doesn't add crap. His system works. Just don't touch the stuff with bare skin. There's a good translation here. You want Section 6).

Okay, in his time the dangers weren't really understood. But they sure as hell are understood now and so we really should be modifying our practice.

This poor woman on facebook smoothed the top layer of her gesso sottile with her palm. Cennini actually says you shouldn't use your hand beyond the initial layer of a gesso grosso application (and believe me, I really wouldn't even do that. I like the idea of living and having my mind functioning). She got a nice finish, but I worry at what cost. Her palm and fingers were white. Particles have entered her system. Hopefully not too much.

Once your gesso is smooth and dry and hard you either paint directly on it, if you are using tempera, or you seal it with gelatine if you are using oil paints. Gesso is very absorbent. If you don't seal it, it sucks the oil out of your paint film. Not a good thing.

So I need to find the documentary evidence for the silver burnishing. And I can't. There are pages missing from my files. They may have gone in the house move nine years ago for all I know. It hadn't bothered me before because I know what to do. I should have been more careful. I'll keep looking.

Some of the rubbish I found on the internet while trying to find an online source included coating your panel with oil before sizing, adding a layer of resin after each layer of gesso (the gesso needs to be damp so that each layer adheres to the previous. Putting resin between these layers is mad), sealing the top layer with resin (that will yellow really badly, really quickly), and using acrylic gesso, which repels oil paint and tempera, so that's useless. Oh, and applying a thick layer of oil to the final layer. The moron who suggested that said it should be "impasto" which is impossible with oil. But time and again I came across the hand-smoothing thing. It makes me shudder.

The problem with the internet is anyone can publish anything. They don't need to know what they are doing, and many don't. When it comes to painting, the level of ignorance is apalling. And it gets shared and shared and shared. because we want to believe that if it is published it must be true. And it is not limited to the internet. A lot of the really bad stuff comes from a handful of books published in the 1980s which are based on poorly understood C19th academic practice (which had its own problems). And there are teachers out there who are spreading the same misinformation to their students, who trust them to know what is right and what is safe.

The misinformation annoys me. The dangerous misinformation scares me. So I suppose this is my little contribution - a vague hope that someone researching gesso with lead white might one day find this and think "maybe I shouldn't use my hand after all". That's why I am boring you all silly.

from Ars Bene Moriendi, France, 1470-1480

Wednesday 1 October 2014

A Goddess in the Cupboard

Amongst other things, I am trying to get my work room in order. It is almost done. It has been almost done for some time now. The trouble is the last lot of stuff doesn't seem to belong together or have anywhere obvious to go, so it clutters up the floor while I sort and re-sort, then let it get out of control and then have to start all over again. If procrastination ever becomes an Olympic sport I shall excel.

(As an aside, when the modern Olympics began, the arts were a part of it. While not in the first Olympics in 1896, there were competitions for architecture, painting, sculpture, music and literature up until 1948, alongside track and field, swimming, etc. They were removed because it was realised that if you wanted a really top-class competition in these areas then professionals had to take part, and the Olympics was about amateurs. Looking at modern Olympians now I think you could argue that quite a few are professional athletes. Time to bring the arts back. Which is never going to happen.)

Most of the work room is pretty good (it just doesn't look it). I am in the novel position of being able to find exactly what I want in very short order. I have also found quite a few things I forgot I had, or that I hadn't seen in a very long while.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties I was obsessed with Jim Fitzpatrick, an Irish artist focussing on Irish pre-history and mythology. I still love his work, but I am no longer obsessed with it. It was because of Fitzpatrick that I studied Ancient Irish and Modern Irish at university. There is something to be said for reading the Tain in its original language (or the Edda, or Beowulf for that matter. Yes, I used to be able to read Norse and Mercian as well. But what you don't use you lose. Latin was in there too, which is why I get ticked off by Christmas wishes. It's "Peace to men of good will", not "peace and good will to men". Sheesh).

Anyway... Celtic decoration has always been a thing for me. I have always loved it. Buying George Bain's amazing book in the little Irish shop that used to be in The Rocks was like finding treasure. Actually, it was finding treasure. And the shop had a stack of Jim's books too, and a poster collection (signed. Oh, what a lovely birthday present that was). So slowly I collected. Some trips to The Rocks I would buy a Fitzpatrick book, other trips I would buy a volume of Urusei Yatsura (yes, I was studying Japanese too. Glutton for punishment). And all the while I would be drawing knotwork on everything, or dissecting carpet pages and trying to reproduce them, or looking at how Fitzpatrick and others were applying ancient designs to modern artworks.

One of the things I did was copy what the amazing Mr. Jim was doing. I have long known that copying is a great way to learn. You have to credit it properly, but you can understand so much more about form and style and, above all, technique. I've always copied things. I probably should do a post with some of my attempts, good and bad. Unless you'd rather watch grass grow. Maybe I'm the only one who finds it interesting. It's so hard to tell.

So I copied a number of Fitzpatrick's pieces. Palu had always been a favourite, so she was first up.

Palu, Jim Fitzpatrick, 1976.
Palu, black ink on cartridge paper, Megan Ellem after Jim Fitzpatrick, c1989
And then I did a number of smaller pieces, looked at how he did figures in movement, had a  go at a larger painting (which needed an airbrush but as I didn't have one I didn't use one, so it has some problems from that alone. It is important to match technique as well as form) and got around to copying Boann and a couple of others. Then I got adventurous, and created my own goddess image with a classic Fitzpatrick border and his goddess style.

Tailtiu, black ink on paper, Megan Ellem in the style of Jim Fitzpatrick c1989-90

This was years ago, before I was married. Even before my family moved to Lambton. So that must be about 25 years back. I found it again when I was sorting out the work room and am still very pleased with it. But when I look at it, part of me feels some small regret that I didn't pursue this path as doggedly then as I am trying to currently. Where would I be now? What sort of life would I have had? But if I had done that, I wouldn't have studied Norse and Old English and Old Irish. I wouldn't have read the Edda and the Tain and Beowulf or the AS Chronicles in their original languages, or found out about the use of colours in Anglo-Saxon education methods. I would never have studied the impact of time measurement on Anglo-Saxon culture and vice versa, or read the adventures of Hercules in Latin. I may not have found Charlie Sheard and had the magic of real painting unlocked.

It's very easy to live with a lifetime of regret. There are always things we can find that we wish we had done, or wish we had done differently, or sooner, or not done at all (I have quite a few of those). But everything that has happened or that we have done or learnt, it all contributes to what and who we are now. Not always in a good way, but not always in a bad way either. All those things I studied at University gave me a different perspective on life and on art production than I would have had without it. My art practice and research gave me a different perspective on my Uni studies too (and led to my only published paper). Two-way street - best kind.

So I will always love my goddess and my copies, and I'll try hard not to be sorry about leaving things so long, and I'll work at appreciating the path I have travelled to this point so I can travel the rest of the way more mindfully and more productively. We may not be able to choose all the cobbles on the road, but we can certainly decide on the boots we are wearing and who we will kick along the way.