Here is the fifth installment of the Yeti saga.  I think it is going well, slow but well.

Today I would like to write a little about inspiration.

According to the fossil record, horses once had hands.  Unfortunately the dinosaur book that I have checked out from the library does not have a good illustration, or at least a satisfying illustration.  From time to time, I find myself wishing I had a solid, historically accurate, illustration of a horse with hands.  I also feel that if I could draw better, perhaps I could create this illustration.

Yesterday I checked out Animal anatomy for artists : the elements of form by Eliot Goldfinger.  Looking at the bone and muscle structure of horses has intensified my interest of seeing a picture of a horse with hands, but at the same time has made me realize that it probably would not look as impressive as I hoped it might.

This new knowledge has created an interesting contradictory feeling within me.  I think this feeling is inspiration.

Still moving with transparency.  And kind of groaning over the last blog entry.  My story should have spoken more about the close ties between the faded and the transparent, and less on the watcher.  I should have personified memory or something.

I am happy with this new painting, although one of my close friends said, “what is that? a milk jug rocketing into space?”  This comment has lost some of its sting now that I have written it down, but needless to say this is not a picture of a space bound milk container.

One thing that is kind of new to these paintings is the shadows on the rhododendron.  I think that was a good feature, especially when it is found next to the flat color of the rhododendron through the milk container.

I know that transpire has nothing to do with transparent, but it is too interesting of a word to leave out completely.

I have become very interested in the relationships between fade (fading) and transparent (becoming transparent).  I think these ideas are important to me and important to watercolor in general.

For example, what marks the past?  I sort of think relics and monuments from long ago mark the past, but it is really our memories that replenish it and keep it from fading.  However, even with our memories, relics and monuments working together, the past seems to fade.  It does not go away, but becomes transparent to our memories.

Now something that is transparent is different from something that becomes transparent, but I sometimes wonder how great a distinction this really is.  If things are transparent, they cannot fade, at least in visual terms, because if they are transparent there is nothing to fade.

Concrete example, lets say there are two birds watching a hedge.  If a rabbit runs by the birds will watch it and then, it will slowly fade from their memories.  If a transparent rabbit runs by the birds will never notice and there is nothing to fade.  Now, what if there are hundreds of thousands of transparent rabbits?  Or the birds are transparent?  It seems a little silly because I do not think my ideas are there yet.

While not especially apparent in this photograph, the area where the line falls behind the milk carton is really pretty nice. As dumb as this sounds, you can really paint cool transparent things with transparent watercolor (My library now subscribes to the OED and I was tempted to use the word diaphanous in this sentence, now that I know what diaphanous means.)

I am only sort of happy with the rabbit in the carton. I think the color is little too saturated, and I am not really sure why I placed the rabbit there in the first place. I guess it kind of reminded me of a picture on a fruit box. If anyone is selling an apple that tastes like a rabbit who has drank too much milk, this painting would be perfect for their crates.

This is the fourth part of the yeti series and things are now starting to get interesting.  If it is too hard to tell from the illustration, the yeti lives in a tree, on a rock, in the middle of the ocean.

I have a watercolor painting that is complete, however I want to look at it a little longer before I post it.

I can’t really think of what to write about this painting.  I think it is one of the strongest works I have done in a while, but I am not sure why.  I think the use of color and modeling is getting better, but I would hate to hang my hat on better technique.  This is not to say better technique is a bad thing.  I really believe that in most cases you need some kind of technique to make a good painting.

What worries me is that I begin to only pursue better technique.  Better technique can make a painting look better (”hey that is well painted”), but it does not make a painting more interesting or transcending or what ever a painting should do.  I want my paintings to do what paintings should do.

I remember reading a video game review a while ago.  I can’t remember the game, but it was based on a movie.  In any event the reviewer stated that he felt sad for all the people who contributed their time towards the making of the game, which while good looking and well built, had zero fun.  Fun, of course, is what, deep down, every video game longs to be.  No amount of polish can make a game fun.  Of course a complete lack of polish can stand in the way of fun.

Here is the third installment of the Yeti narrative.  I hope everyone is enjoying it.

My watercolor paintings are doing well.  I do find myself working at a slightly slower pace, but this is mostly because I am spending some of my dedicated studio time to looking at/and reading about paintings.

This has the unfortunate result of a lot of introspection.  One of the stories I like to tell myself is that I paint for fun.  This is largely true, but it does not answer questions found in painting books.  Questions like “why do you paint what you paint?” or “why do you paint like you paint?”

I do not really have good answers to these questions.  Most of what I paint seems to be based on what I was last painting.  Ideas and observations from my current painting will form the base for my next painting.  On the surface this idea of building on the past seems good and seems to be taking me somewhere.  However when this statement is reduced to its components, “Why did you do this?” “I did this, because before I did that.” doesn’t seem to be a very good answer.

Some people seem to have good answers as to why they paint.  Some people like to say “I paint from my feelings.”  I think that the next time anyone asks me in person why I paint, I think I will turn towards them, look them in the eye and say, “Because I am a damn good painter.”  I will try to look serious and attempt to intimidate them into buying a painting.  Years from now when people ask why they bought the painting they might reply “because I was frightened by the artist.”

That last bit was ridiculous, but I sometimes I think fear of the artist (not of violence, more of ego) impresses people to like their work.

Here is page two of the Yeti dad saga.  I was pretty happy with this one.  It looks like I should be getting my camera back in a week or two, and it will be back to watercolor.  For now I hope you enjoy this installment.

I left my digital camera in Southern Oregon so I can’t take pictures of my latest watercolor paintings, which is OK.  I sometimes worry that feeling the imaginary pressure to use a painting in a blog post can sometimes make me rush things that would be better with a little more time.  Having a little time away from the blog will let me reflect and see if this is true.  I am still painting, and have a new work I am anxious to share, but it will have to wait a bit until I get my camera back.

In the meantime I would like to share some of my other non-watercolor work.  As I mentioned in a previous post I bought a wacom tablet and still think it is just about the best artistic tool you can attach to a computer.  I am sporadically using it to work on a little comic called “The Bad Yeti Dad.”  It is just for fun, and a good counter-point to my watercolor work.  It also doesn’t require the camera.

As the title implies this comic is about a father Yeti with poor parenting skills.  He has three children and uses drinking and yelling as the crux of his parenting strategy.  While not autobiographical, it is a character I can identify with.  Right now I am on page 5, I am not sure if the watercolor blog is the best venue for this, but it will have to do at least for now.

Q. Are poets better than painters?
A. Who cares, a clever painter can slowly poison you with cadmium and cobalt, probably at the same time.

Where do paintings live?
An easier question is where to poems live?  Poems live in words, and some how words exist outside of our reality (right?).  Every time you read a poem it is the poem.  The poem is in a book, a person is saying the poem, the poem is on a calendar.  It is all the same poem.  The poem lives in the words and not really in a place.  You can picture the poem, but you do not have to picture its location, because the poem is its location.

But what about paintings?
I hate to think my favorite Rothko is rotting on a conservator’s table, I don’t want to think about a sleazy stockbroker hoarding a beloved Baldessari, I never want to think of a page in a book when I think of Anselm Kiefer.  When I think of paintings I never think of location or space, it is often too sad.  I think the only time I can really be happy thinking about a painting is when I am in front of that painting, when I am painting, or when I am too distracted to think about where that painting is.

Paintings shouldn’t really be anywhere.