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.

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** 

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.

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

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.

Steampunk Evolution

Having had a great week on the farm and in Canberra, being all active and outdoorsy and social, this week has been a bit of a fizzer. The children have only wanted to mooch about and use their electronic devices, and the Steamgoth has been exploring the electronic keyboard my brother gave her (no one there had used it in years, and she was at it every opportunity she had). We haven't heard the strains coming from her room as it takes headphones. Which is sort of disappointing. She is quite good, and one of her favourites is Golden Brown by the Stranglers.

So yesterday I decided an outing was in order. A high school friend had alerted me to the Antipodean Steampunk Show, currently at the Lake Macquarie Art Gallery, so today we piled into the car and drove up. Unknown to the children I had alerted their grandparents, who met us in the car park.

It's a good exhibition. I love found-object construction, and I love Steampunk, so it was the old pig, mud, happy scenario. And there were beautiful clothes from Gallery Serpentine and Clockwork Butterfly. And they had Aurora and Jasper Morello playing on screens.

Son was pleased to be with Nan and Pa and to see all the weird and wonderful creations. He isn't as into Steampunk as we are, but he does love strange inventions. And the Steamgoth was quietly thrilled because the lady on the desk said "I see I don't have to explain Steampunk to you two".

I bought the catalogue, but when I got home I found it doesn't have my favourite piece in it, an airshhip captain's watch. Oh well.

One of my other favourites. An ipod/mp3 player dock by Caleb Heinselman. Flavio Bodrogi Photography

Maquette for Clockwork Universe by Tim Wetherall. Been to Questacon in Canberra? You know the BIG clock in the foyer? This is the little mockup for the finished design

But it has got me all inspired again. There are some airship designs that I did back in June/July and they have been left unfinished, so tomorrow I think I will get them out and work on painting them, and there are always Nerf guns waiting for modification. And then there are the abstracts. I haven't looked at them for a while. And the drawing of Arlene. And housework. There's always housework (stuff that). That's quite a lot waiting to be done, actually. Best get on.