When I returned from Italy last September, I felt conflicted about what I'd learned. On the one hand, I'd felt an incredible sense of freedom with the techniques I'd discovered--I no longer felt the pressure to make something "impressive," and I didn't feel the need to get caught up in the details and completely over-work my paintings. I did some preliminary sketching, of course, but I didn't feel like I was married to those sketches, or even have to follow them at all if I didn't want to. Up until that trip, I had been a tedious, anxious, self-conscious artist. When I returned, I was confident, relaxed, and excited about trying every new technique I could get my hands on. I owe a lot to Maestro Will, to the Signiora, and to that inspirational villa in Farnese--they've changed the way that I approach life, as well as the way I approach my art.
I've been happy with the work I've accomplished this year, but I've also felt like I've been ignoring the lessons I've learned from previous professors. I don't have many "official" art classes under my belt, but the ones I've taken have been very meticulous and exact--and part of me really likes being meticulous and exact. I felt like I was going too far in one direction, that I was out of balance. This piece is the first that I've felt really good about this year, in terms of balance. This is the first time that I felt I was truly able to utilize both the meticulous and the exploratory techniques I love to create the exact image I'd wanted. The piece is based on a photograph taken on an iPhone (believe it or not) by my close friend Katherine Wright. Her friend Ellen is the figure pictured. As soon as I saw the photo, I knew I wanted to paint it. I fell in love with the warm colors of the grass and the trees, and with the way the sun shone through the clouds almost directly to Ellen sitting below.
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| Open Field, copyright Joa Stenning, May 2012. Oil on Canvas Board. |
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| Open Field, copyright Joa Stenning, May 2012. Oil on Canvas Board. |
I started with a red canvas, just like the Maestro does, and did a light preliminary sketch with charcoal before jumping in with the oils. I used a palette knife for the clouds, and used little chippies (pieces of mat board) to create details in the grass as well as along the horizon. I think that the chippies were really helpful in adding a tiny bit of definition to the trees, while still keeping them loose and impressionistic. I didn't use any liquin with this piece, mostly because I couldn't get any out of the jar (if you've ever worked with liquin before, you'll understand the gross smelly chemical mess involved in trying). Instead, I used a mixture of varnish and linseed oil (50/50), which is what my former professor Abby Zonies used. It creates a very different texture, and takes much longer to dry, but it does add a bit of shine.
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| Close up of Open Field, copyright Joa Stenning, May 2012. Oil on Canvas Board. |
I often wonder what "professional" artists do--do they have a balance? Do they all need a bit of order, or are some happier without any guidelines at all? Does it make a piece "better" if it has both method and madness? I understand that art is subjective, and that what some might consider successful others might consider trash--but I can't help wishing there was some kind of manual, with some variety of formulas to try out--"On this page we find Picasso's formula of Abstraction. In the next chapter, we'll dissect Monet's water lilly theorem." Since there isn't any such thing (that I'm aware of), I guess I'll just have to keep plugging away, trying everything and keeping what sticks.
