I’ve tweaked the drawing and am pleased with the added clarity. Next step: transfer this drawing to a panel and apply crow-shaped paint.
A small study that is in progress, showing my current approach.
I am playing around with a very limited palette again. 3 colors and white. I first kicked ivory black to the curb and continued to pare down. (OK, not really 3. I use yellow ochre, as well as Cad. yellow and also throw in a second blue, when needed. So, 5, really.)
The latest. I like this pose, composition. Work to be underway soon, using the study as the foundation for painting.
Here’s a photo of a painting that I’m updating along with a picture taken from the painting site. The photo doesn’t exactly represent where I was standing when I started the painting but it’s close.
I’ve been thinking about using more highly keyed choima in the underpainting. Looking at and reading about Maxfield Parrish has been giving me plenty to think about lately.
I’m finishing up a few things, picking up works from being framed and generally involved in the last minute hustle before a show. Amy and I and a couple of others will be showing together at Artemis Gallery in Northeast Harbor opening 8/14/14.
I suppose he is the hardest lot that wears feathers. Yes, and the cheerfullest, and the best satisfied with himself. He never arrived at what he is by any careless process, or any sudden one; he is a work of art, and “art is long”; he is the product of immemorial ages, and deep calculation; one can’t make a bird like that in a day. He has been reincarnated more times than Shiva; and he has kept a sample of each incarnation, and fused it into his constitution. In the course of his evolutionary promotions, his sublime march toward ultimate perfection, he has been a gambler, a low comedian, a dissolute priest, a fussy woman, a blackguard, a scoffer, a liar, a thief, a spy, an informer, a trading politician, a swindler, a professional hypocrite, a patriot for cash, a reformer, a lecturer, a lawyer, a conspirator, a rebel, a royalist, a democrat, a practicer and propagator of irreverence, a meddler, an intruder, a busybody, an infidel, and a wallower in sin for the mere love if it. The strange result, the incredible result, of this patient accumulation of all damnable traits is, that he does not know what care is, he does not know what sorrow is, he does not know what remorse is, his life is one long thundering ecstasy of happiness, and he will go to his death untroubled, knowing that he will soon turn up again as an author or something, and be even more intolerable capable and comfortable than ever he was before.
Mark Twain – Following the Equator