A studio still life, and some talk about buying paints and pastels

I was in the local art store the other day, buying pastel paper, and ended up also buying three oil pastel sticks - a dark blue-green, gold, and purple. It isn't a medium I've used much since I wore out my childhood set of Cray-Pas a very long time ago, but I've been seeing oil pastel work I liked and thought it would be a good experiment. This is the first attempt -- a fast, ten-minute drawing -- and I quite like the refusal of the thick stick to become pointed and fussy; the intense, rich color; the possibilities for thick dark application and for blending.

The same basic set of objects, drawn in pen-and-ink sometimes last year.

In art supplies as in most things we buy, there's a big difference in price and in quality between different brands. Usually the more expensive brands are worth the price, and that seems to be true in this case. The main stick I've used for the drawing here is Sennelier ($4-$5.50/stick, depending on vendor), while the gold is Van Gogh ($1.75-$2.50). The Sennelier is creamy, non granular, and luscious to draw with. The Van Gogh, much drier and more granular, is about the same as the Cray-Pas of my youth: I'd call them student grade. Other types -- and other colors -- may be stickier, or crumblier. A full set of Sennelier oil pastels lists at $539; I've seen discounted prices of $243 - but I'm not interested in a full set at this point, but in acquiring particular colors. I'll be buying more, slowly. They also come in very large sticks, at a commensurately larger price, but those are too big in diameter for what I want to do.

Beginning artists sometimes ask me whether to buy a set of colors of paint or pastels or other media - or to buy open stock. I usually suggest that they buy a set, but of the best quality they can afford. I think we all love sets of colors - there's something about opening a metal lid, or a lovely box, and seeing a whole range of colors nestled inside - maybe it reminds us of those big boxes of Crayola crayons. As a kid, I used to spend hours rearranging my crayons in different ways, which probably foretold more about my future than any Tarot deck. Six colors often isn't enough for someone without experience in color mixing, but a set of twelve colors is usually plenty for someone to get the feel of a medium and decide if they like it, without spending a fortune - because good art supplies are really quite expensive.

Inferior colors, while they may look brilliant and beautiful in the tube or box, are harder to handle and give unpredictable or low-quality results that can easily discourage even the most enthusiastic artist, who may blame herself but shouldn't. The choice isn't all black and white, though. In nearly all media, there's a middle range that is affordable, but not prohibitive. Art stores that cater to university classes are a good place to look, and there are many reviews of art supplies online. In this field, you really do tend to get what you pay for: the top-of-the-line brands are the best, using the finest-ground, best-quality, long-lasting pigments and the best binders and mediums, and sold by companies with long histories of research in the field. The beginner doesn't need to go right to this rarefied top level, but he does need to stay away from the bottom. (Drop me a line if you have a question, I'm always glad to try to help.)

This is my 90-color "landscape" set of Rembrandt dry pastels: I have two drawers full of different pastels, some inherited some bought in sets, some bought individually.

There are several problems with sets for the more advanced or professional artist. One is the need for a  greater range of colors, or a different range, from what is provided by the manufacturer in their sets, which may be general assortments, or color ranges specifically selected for landscape, portraits, or still life. Or we may find that we use up certain colors much more quickly than others, and need larger tubes or more sticks. Sometimes I start with a set that matches most closely what I think I'll use, and then augment it. In the case of pastels, that means buying new boxes for storing the ones I buy individually.

And storage of art supplies, in general, is a whole other issue, which I'll talk about sometime soon in another post.

I'm curious to hear from non-professional artists who've bought art supplies -- has it been a good experience? Confusing? Frustrating? Do you feel like you got your money's worth?

Comments

[Pica]

I love buying art supplies -- most recently a full set of Prismacolors. So many colors, so perfect, so much potential waiting to be unlocked! Thanks for this post, Beth. Reminds me to go out and sketch today (gorgeous day, Whole Earth Festival, I'm just back from a day of spinning at a fundraiser and want to shift gears a bit).

[Dave]

"The choice isn't all black and white, though." LOL.

[Roderick Robinson]

I don't buy art supplies since I don't do art. But I'm sorely tempted when I accompany VR on one of her buying missions. Why should this be?

Perhaps because the sight of paper, canvases, crayons, tubes of oil paint (So much white!) and the rest propels us a half-step towards the finished image. The wherewithal and the potential are there! There is no equivalent for those of us who merely write. What could be duller than a ream of printer paper or a utilities bill which reminds us that without electrical power the computer would be so much junk? Printer cartridges are the exception and they regularly encourage me to write a crabby post - but only because I'm enraged by the cynical commercialism they represent.

The only real consumable in writing are the electrical pulses in my brain that probably do not distinguish between the act of typing my name or the creation of an unbeatable couplet to finish off a sonnet. But I worry about them. Is there an infinite supply? I doubt it. Forgetting about death, surely that would offend the immutable law about the creation of matter.

Art supplies have tactile appeal. They will be held. fingered, sorted through, opened, unfolded and - of course - smelt. They will play an active role in bringing about an artefact that has never previously existed. In moments of contemplation one anthropomorphises them, imagines them urging the artist towards a better effort - so that the nature of of the crayon or oil paint is not wasted.

As an outsider I wonder whether they encourage miserliness?

[Julia]

If you'd like to come to Brittany to make art I'd be delighted to see you!