I’m still getting settled into our new house, but I thought I’d best post something (just so no one thinks I died or anything).

These photos were taken on our trip to New Mexico in May, and I thought they turned out pretty well.  These in particular are from Santa Fe, though we went a few other places too.

Hopefully there will be some new art posted before too long as well, keep your fingers crossed.

I’m in the middle of moving this month to a new house (yay me!), complete with an office (and a door), so these posts are a little spotty.  But I’ll try and keep up with them.

The above work is Andreas Achenbach’s A Fishing Boat Caught In A Squall Off A Jetty (1865, oil on canvas, 38″ x 55″), a piece that caught my attention when I was looking for the last art blog piece.  It’s a very dramatic piece, something I’m always apt to appreciate.

I think this piece grabs me for a few reasons.  First off, the color palette.  With photography, I’m a big fan of sepia tones.  It gives you an older, almost worn look that smacks of age.  I think the sepia palette here definitely works in its favor, giving not only a sense of age but that this was an entirely different era.  You get the sense that Achenbach captured a real moment, a real-life drama played out right in front of the artist.

There’s a strong sense in the work of nature vs. humanity, and it gives it a sharp dramatic sense.  The smooth lines of the man-made structures give way to the randomness of the waves and the sky. Each side seems almost to be taunting the other, and we’re not sure if man will have his dock or if it will all be swept away.

For me, that’s the strongest point of the work.  This isn’t just a wave coming in, or the rising tide.  The water is alive, and is fighting everything in its path. Not just the boat, but the people and maybe even the dock itself don’t seem to stand a chance against the violent waves.

Some of my favorite artists and works offer a glimpse of a different world, or different time.  Some of them make nature seem alive, and in some cases threatening.  I think this piece captures all of that.  Nature is rushing ashore with unstoppable power, and pity anything that stands in its way.

Opinions?

I’ve run across a number of Elihu Vedder’s pieces before, and this one is one of my favorites.  This is Vedder’s, The Questioner of the Sphinx (1863, oil on canvas, 36″ x 42″), and is a piece that for me is always inspiring.

The idea of the riddle of the sphinx is ancient, and at the time this was painted the fascination of ancient cultures and especially the Egyptians was in full swing. What I like about this piece is the setting.  Not that images of Egypt (or the sphinx) are unusual by any means (See: The Mummy), but the ruins buried in a never-ending sandy landscape make it more interesting, and more mysterious.

Vedder used the darkness of the image to a dramatic effect, isolating his main character.  He keeps the details to the edges and into the middle, and the barren landscape, punctuated only by the ruins, helps to further isolate the lone traveler.

I think Vedder’s palette works well here, though I have see slightly different versions online with other colors.  This seems to be the most consistent, and in all of the versions none of the color is too bright.  Vedder uses the earthy midtones, in a way that actually subdues the drama of the moment.  But it is the marriage of scene, detail and those tones that work together to increase the drama of the moment, despite no one feature being dominant.

For me, as an illustrator, I love a piece that tells a story.  This one certainly does, and leaves much to the viewer’s imagination.  The traveler seems to have come a long way, almost desperate to find any answer to his important questions.  Another had apparently been here before to ask questions, with seemingly bad results.

Vedder’s piece brings us to a desolate realm, to a desperate scene. Nature, or possibly the magic of the sphinx, now owns this realm.  Will he get his answers?  Will he even be able to ask the questions?

That, as in many great works of art, is up to us.

Opinions?

I thought this week I’d take a look at a simpler piece, and see it from a different light.  In the case of Bierstadt, I’ve honestly seen others that I like a little better, but I still like this one too.  It also makes a good point on how seeing in up close in the museum can give you a different feel for it.

This is Albert Bierstadt’s Wind River Country (1860, oil on canvas), which I recently saw at the Denver Museum of Art (fancy that, that’s where that earlier Wyeth was from…).  I’ve seen many Bierstadt works in art books (and a handful in person), and I think he had a real knack for capturing the feel of the wild.  Many of his scenes were painted far later than when he was actually onsite, which led to some interesting “imaginings” of what was really there.  But I don’t think what he added and adjusted took away from the intent at all, and you are still drawn to the wide open spaces and the beautiful lands.

What you don’t get from a little three inch wide image (probably grayscale at that) in an art book is the detail that Bierstadt painted into his scenes.  For instance, when you see it up close, you get this below:

What was just a lump of dark in the the smaller image gives way to the full scene, of nature at its’ wildest. You get a sense from the smaller images of Bierstadt’s work (including the one at top) that he liked to add detail.  But when you are standing in front of it, when you see the immense detail and thought that he put into the work, you realize that this isn’t just another landscape work.  This is capturing nature at a moment in time, at a feeling of the wild, of nature at its’ most sacred.

Now, this painting is maybe 3-4 feet wide (can’t find it online, and the little girl wouldn’t stand in front of it for scale), and yet Bierstadt not only painted the detailed mountains, skies and landscape before you, but he included so many minor details in it that you get the feeling that he must’ve had a camera ready (though he didn’t, just lots of test sketches).

What I take away from the work is twofold.  First, seeing a work in person at the museum (or wherever it might be) just gives you a different sense that a little shot in a book.  Sure, you might really like the overall piece, but this image proves that sometimes the “devil is in the details”.

Lastly, I think Bierstadt is not just showing the pretty pictures, but trying to convey a way of life.  Like a fantasy world, or a city street view, or even a haunted house, artists are always trying to give you sense that you are in a new place, somewhere you haven’t been before and maybe aren’t used to.  The best artists can give you a scene that gives you a different reality to ponder, and Bierstadt here gives you one of natural, wild beauty untouched by man.  In the details he shows you that even in the beauty of nature, you have to watch your step.

Opinions?

Years ago, when dinosaurs ruled the earth and I was but a young punk, I went to college to be a civil engineer.  The reasons I’m not now an engineer are for a later time, but I’ve never lost my love for beautiful architecture.

In the late 90’s and early oughts’, I dabbled in the idea of producing simple architectural design prints.  Other than the one and only print of the Villa Rotunda that my friend has, there have only been smaller versions on this site in my somewhat neglected design pages.

Below are a few samples, as always feel free to let me know what you think.  It might be something I try again, maybe large works in pen and ink or something instead of the vector graphics these are.

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I’ve been picking away at a color sketch in Photoshop, and I think it’s finally done.  I try to do pencil sketching, ink and crosshatching practice and Photoshop/digital sketching and manipulation each week just to get new ideas rolling around in my head.  Sometimes they work, other times not so much.

I’m also trying to get something down on paper (or on “monitor”) when I think about it.  I have a few sketchpads, and I have a new Moleskine that I’m trying out.  Along with that, if I see a picture that I’ve taken I’ve been trying to practice with it and go with whatever flow comes along.

The piece below is one of those.  You’ll notice on a previous blog I talked about the skull/anatomical reference I built (you do read all of these things right?), and I grabbed one of those pics and manipulated it.  I have a hard time calling such work “art”, I think I lean towards calling them “photo illustrations”.

Let me know what you think of it. I call it Gods in the Depths Below.

Being an illustrator, and having been a big fan of engravings and inkwork for many years, I have a tendency to pick up on highly detailed artwork.  Since these posts are designed to help me learn how to be better at what I do (and to entertain the billions and billions of devoted followers of this blog), I thought I’d pick something different.  At least, if not different in the typical ideas that I like, different in technique or design.

This is Frantisek Kupka’s Resistance, or The Black Idol (1903, Colored aquatint on paper, 13.7″ x 13.7″), which despite it’s fairly simplistic idea is still a striking piece.  Several of the sites that I read about it say that Coppola modeled Dracula’s castle after the piece (which I found a handful of shots of here), which certainly seems the case from the small images I’ve seen online.

I can’t spout off about color much on this one, being a mono-/duotone sort of piece.  There’s also not a huge amount of detail to talk of. No, this work is all about contrast, and using light and shadow to make your point.

Kupka uses those contrasts to great, emotional effect in the piece, and he tells his story with the simplicity of black and white.  The brightness of the lower right and across the bottom bring your eye in, right to the path leading to the statue.  At the same time, your eye is drawn by the darkness of the statue against the sky, a simple background that enhances the darkness of the statue.

Yet, the two extremes balance one another nicely.  Neither is too dominant, and they both work together to form something greater than the parts. You are drawn down the bright path right into the darkness, pulled in by the whole over the parts.

Kupka also uses several design and layout tricks to keep your eye heading where he wants it.  The angles in the art always lead you in the direction of the statue, whether that’s the angles of the path or the shadow of the smaller rock.  The linework of the sky/background curves inward towards the statue, and is darker to the outside, bringing you back to center. The curve of the path itself almost gently brings your eye to the statue, defying the horror that seemingly lays within.

The piece is really a simple one, but in that simplicity is a great power.  The lack of detail makes the image more natural, and at the same time more powerful.  Kupka’s not saying that the path is right or wrong, good or bad, only that we must take the path with him.  You can take it that you are entering into the darkness of hell, or that you are coming out of the darkness down the bright path to salvation.  As with all great works, it’s up to you to decide.

Opinions?

This is Lord Frederick Leighton’s And the sea gave up the dead which were in it (1891, oil on canvas, 90″, much larger link here), a piece that caught my eye when I was looking for something else (which is often the case).

I don’t tend to do biblical pieces all that often, mostly because I’m not a religious person, but also because there tends to be a more structured, more “official” look to many of them.  Now, before both of you (or am I down to one person reading these now) let me have it, I just tend to think that the non-religious art pieces are a little more open, the artist seeming a little more free to do as they wish.  As my friend says though, your mileage may vary.

Leighton has created a large image at 90″ across, which I’ve read was originally intended as ceiling art in St. Paul’s Cathedral (see here for reference). The size and dramatic sense of the piece certainly makes sense then, as does of course the content.  The image shows the last judgment, and is based on Revelations (20th chapter).

Before I say what I think on the content, let’s talk about the artistry.  I like Leighton’s use of color and contrast here.  The colors are all fairly subdued, yet certainly help bring your eye into the work.  You are first drawn to the man in the center (partially because, well, he’s in the center), something that’s helped by his red clothing.  Leighton also uses a fiery palette in other parts, a sense that something otherworldly is happening.

Leighton’s use of contrasts works very well here, and really helps tell the story.  The bright white of the woman’s chest keeps your eye in the center of the work (and not at her body, that’s not what I mean– well maybe some), but the the bright clouds behind her also give a sense of the earth to the image.  At the same time, the midtones of the piece keep your eye from straying too far off the mark, and drives home further impact to the events at hand.

Where I think Leighton worked best was actually in using that contrast and the gray levels to give an idea of what’s happening in the scene. The man in the center, and a number of the people around him are seemingly grayed out, more subtle than the others. The man’s wife in his arm, the boy and even a few of the characters in the back are far brighter, which to me seems to indicate what happened during the judgment, and the final act now in progress.

Along with the bright characters, the characters all seem to indicate, by body language and facial expression, different ideas.  The man in the center, the man on the right and even the darkened woman in the foreground all seem to be worried or anguished, where there’s a sense of relaxation, even rapture in the others.

The piece itself is nicely open to interpretation. To me, Leighton is showing that, as the dead rise again, they are being sent to their final places.  Some to rest, others to damnation.  What strikes me as the pinnacle of the piece is the boy.  I take it that, based on his contrast and color, that he’s rising to heaven.  He’s holding onto his father tightly, not wanting to let him go.  He knows his father isn’t joining them, and it’s his last goodbye as he ascends to heaven.

Opinions?

I’ve been trying to improve as an artist, through a number of different means.  One of those is simply trying new ideas, one of which I came across on the Computer Graphic Society’s website (in this case, forums.cgsociety.org).  In the “Artistic Anatomy and Figurative Art” forum there is a thread where you get two weeks to create whatever the topic is, and then get feedback (which is the great part) from other artists on there (who themselves have added their own pieces).

The topic a few weeks ago was “Post-Apocalyptic Survival Bunny”, which I thought sounded like a lot of fun. The topics are completely open-ended, it’s up to each artist to interpret each idea in their own unique way, so I did.

Here’s the image that I came up with, by all means let me know what you think of it. I think I’ll call it, “Rabbitfield”.

My daughter and I were lucky enough to visit the Denver Art Museum over last weekend, and I came away (as I often do) with a number of new favorite works.  What I like about visiting a museum is not only getting a more personal feel of the artworks, but I come upon new styles and new pieces all the time.

Now, I’m an illustrator of course, so I’m drawn to other illustrators and illustrative works.  It’s no strange thing then that the piece above caught my eye at the museum, as it is by one of the great illustrators of the twentieth century.

This is N.C. Wyeth’s Gunfight (1916. Oil on canvas, 34″ x 25″), a piece that really caught my eye when we were going through the museum. I’ve seen a number of Wyeth pieces in museums now (including the Benjamin Franklin work at the Amon Carter Museum in Texas), and I always have to stop and look at them.

One thing I’ve read while getting information on Gunfight is that Wyeth’s work here seems staged, as if it’s in a play.  That’s not unusual for Wyeth as far as I can tell, I’ve seen quite a number of his works that seem to have that feeling.

For me though, I don’t really consider that a bad thing.  I see it more as Wyeth’s composition technique, using the more plain or set background with the complexity in front of it to give the viewer a faster, easier sense of what is happening in the scene.  As Wyeth’s works often accompanied a story, it’s a fine balance that the artist has to deal with.  The illustration adds depth to the story and gives a better understanding of what’s going on, but it also can’t interfere too much lest the reader stop reading along.

It’s a little harder to tell in my decently fuzzy picture above (I couldn’t find a larger one, though the intent is all there), but Wyeth uses a nice contrast and color palette in the work. The blues and brighter white areas bring your eye right to the action, and add to the overall sense of excitement in the otherwise drab palette of the background.

It’s definitely an action piece, more “pulp” than what would normally be considered fine art.  It’s a romanticized, almost staged battle, but that doesn’t throw off the effect at all.  It brings you into the fight, into the adventure, and does what a good illustration ought to do.  It makes you want to finish the story, and find out what happened once and for all.

Opinions?