Learning from botched attempts

 So, to continue experimenting with the acrylics, I've been working on an Icelandic landscape. Above you can see the initial lay-in, rather watercolorish, on a toned background. Should have stopped right there!

The image above shows the end of the second session, and already I was losing it: the background is nice, but the foreground is getting too detailed, too overworked, too harshly contrasty.

Yikes. It's like two separate paintings! So I stopped here. One option would be to back now and paint over the whole bottom half of the painting - acrylics, being forgiving, will allow that. But when I got out some cropping corners and took a closer look, I saw that what's really needed is a pair of scissors -- the painting is really at the top of the page:

This is close to actual size - about 11 inches wide, and although the screen doesn't show the color or resolve the surface detail as well as in real life, it's pretty close. This is much closer to the direction I want to go in, and this failed painting has shown me a lot -- so it was well worth the effort.

Have a good weekend, everyone! The sun is actually shining here, so I hope to spend some of it outdoors.

Comments

[Nina T]

I understand why you like the crop, I do. But I'd like to say that I find your judgment of the whole to be a tad harsh. I like the difference between the foreground and background treatments.

Of course you must follow your own artistic impulse…

[Rachel Barenblat]

I love seeing your process as well as seeing the end results. The cropped painting has a different tone, for me, than did the larger piece. I like the way you edited it.

[Martine]

How I wish that by "botched attempts" would look like yours... I have to admit I love the cropped version though!

[Beth]

Hi Nina! Well, you're right to call me on being too rough on myself - it wasn't terrible, just not what I was after. I'm afraid I took the scissors to it after writing the post! Thanks for offering a gentler opinion.

Thanks, Rachel. Yes, I wanted to keep that general tone but I lost it -- that was the problem!

Martine, I was thinking of you when I looked at the top image, because you always like the sketchy ones! Thanks for telling me what you thought. (And come over to the studio sometime, we'll throw some paint around!)

[Hattie]

I agree with your self-assessment, Beth. That is very nice work.

[Tom]

I do see why you wished you had stopped after your first laying in of colour. I fear that if botched paintings are something from which one learns, then I am on a permanent learning curve. Your first picture was absolutely delightful.

[Beth]

Thanks, Hattie!

Tom, I'm glad you agree. Also glad I took a photo of that first stage, since it got obliterated! It's too bad you've gotten discouraged about painting - wish I could hang out with you and give you some encouragement.

[Natalie]

Yes, the top one says it all and is all you need. Why do we always want more??

[marly youmans]

Ah, that was interesting! Just went to Ashley's opening last night so was in the mood for an art post...

That's the sort of thing that used to be only in visual arts but now happens on screen to poems if you don't save versions. Overworking...

[Beth]

Natalie: why indeed? Good question!!

Marly, yes, overworking is always a danger, isn't it? I try to photograph versions as I go along -- have actually found myself thinking "Undo" as I work, only to realize, oops, not in this medium! I really wish I still had that first version, intact.

[Roderick Robinson]

This is quite depressing, you know. Your being able to switch off prose at the drop of a hat, switch to acrylics, revise, revise revise, criticise your work mercilessly (even though we muted spectators would have given our eye-teeth to have done any of the versions), and finally dismiss the lot as mere studies.

I'm conscious too that if I'm ever able to catch up with your fecundity you may switch again: record some medieval a capella stuff, point out the sharps that ought to be flats, and then shrug this off too as rather childish. Leading to the creation of a paella or a perfect martini for which you magically contrive to send us - how, I wot not of - a taste of said delicacy.

As you can see I am galled by your expertise. Some time ago I wrote a sonnet and posted it side by side with a version I'd "improved" over the succeeding week. Those who responded all preferred the former and I was reminded of the first rule-of-thumb recommended to aspiring barristers: during cross-examination never ask a question for which you do not already have the answer.

Have I said I like all these acrylics? Well here goes - realising of course that this only types me as indiscriminate.