Art & Perception

This painting by Hanneke van Oosterhout is in an interesting state (click painting to enlarge it). Originally it had a black background, but Hanneke found this an ugly combination with the orange colors. For this reason, she painted the background white, in order to make a new start with it. However, she painted the white thinly, and the background is not really white now, but has an interesting cloudy quality. Although not planned, this is a perfect example of the type of optical effect that can be achieved by painting in layers. The cloudy quality that results gives a feeling of mystery to the still-life which would not be there if the background were pure white.

I don’t know what Hanneke’s plans are for this picture. It will be interesting to follow how it develops, and if she decides to keep some of this accidental background quality, or make something different. I like the cool background grays that contrast nicely with the warm grays in the objects. What do you think?

Here is a drawing of witte aalbessen that Hanneke van Oosterhout made this June (click the images to enlarge). The same day she transferred the drawing to a panel using tracing paper. Then she made an underpainting with acrylic.

The next day she over-painted all the berries with oil paint, a tiring day’s work. Why did she paint them all in one day? “Yes, the berries go away quickly,” says Hanneke. She wanted to capture the fresh, ripe quality of the fruit before the berries dried.

Some weeks later she over-painted the cup and the background in about half a day, again with oils. The result is shown here.

A detail shows the spontaneous but refined brushwork used to paint the berries — the shiny transparent skin and translucent interior. “That is the magic of these white berries, that you can look inside,” says Hanneke. “That’s why I worked so hard to paint them when they were fresh.” On the panel each berry is about 7 mm wide.

Two and a half days work is fast for a detailed painting like this. But is the picture in finished? You decide.

Posted by Alice Brasser

The experience of sculpting from life, which gave me such a rich way of looking and working, made me question the value of the drawing that I normally do. Now that I am getting over the initial shock of sculpting from life, I begin to appreciate the contribution of drawing to the sculpting process. First, drawing is much faster, so capturing a sudden lively gesture is much easier in drawing. The proportions and details may be all wrong, but if the drawing captures the feeling of the gesture, then it is possible to get the other aspects right in the sculpture with a gradual working process. Second, I’ve realized that my life drawings contain more information that I thought, and the sculpting helps me to interpret the drawings more completely.

I also started working with wax today, which has the advantage that it is lighter lets me make figures that stand without any support.

I’ve been having a lively email discussion with the artist-sculptor who runs the Michelangelo’s Models website. Although the history of Michelangelo’s sculptural models is controversial (I discuss one viewpoint in an essay on the Sistine Chapel), the various proposals about his working methods can be inspirational for artists today. That is not to say one should be casual about evaluating Michelangelo’s methods, of course. It is only to say that even a speculative art-historical idea can be of value in the creative process, if it proves its worth in practice.

Today I worked for many hours on a clay model of my two-year old son’s head. I worked from some dozens of life-drawings that I have been making over many weeks. Each drawing is from a different viewpoint, which is what I need for the sculpture. And yet it was difficult to get the likeness. Finally when he came home from daycare, I followed him around the apartment as he played with a toy tractor. With the clay model in my hands, I made rapid and decisive progress on the sculpture — even though he did not remain still for more than a moment. In half an hour I accomplished more than in the eight hours working from the drawings.

This experience has challenged my idea of what I am doing as an artist when I draw. Some time ago a sculptor said to me that painters and sculptors draw in different ways. He did not elaborate — perhaps he could not — but the concept has intrigued me ever since. Today I begin to sense the need for a different manner of drawing for sculpture. As a painter, I try to draw to capture light and shade, and through this, the illusion of form. What I realized is that the illusion of form is precisely that, an illusion, and the actual information conveyed is less than what we might imagine. Next time I draw I will try to focus on conveying the information of form more explicitly, rather than the illusion of form through the effects of light.

I have been drawing from life for years, but I only recently tried modeling in clay from life. For one project I made a portrait of my three-year-old daughter (now four years old). Three-year-old girls never pose, of course. This makes drawing them difficult.

Sculpting in clay is a different matter. I made a clay head about one-third life-size, not attached to a base so I could hold and turn it in my hands. Every time she moved, I turned the sculpture and modeled whatever view I had for that moment. It took time and persistence, but after a few sessions I made a good likeness. I was surprised at how easy it was, given how little experience I had in this medium. But there is a logic behind it.

The challenge in drawing is to transform three dimensions into two dimensions. Without a consistent viewpoint, the process is somewhat hopeless. With sculpture, this transformation in dimensions is not an issue, and every viewpoint holds useful information. By going to the third dimension, the most difficult drawing problems become doable as sculpture.

Here is one of Hanneke van Oosterhout’s recent still-life paintings. She is focused on ginger pots at the moment. These glazed ceramic pots were in the past used to store candied ginger. They could be imported from China until a few years ago. Hanneke bought this old pot at an antique market in Haarlem.

I have to confess that I never saw much in these ginger pots until Hanneke started painting them. Now that I am looking at her pictures, I begin to appreciate the contrast of different materials — the transparent ceramic glaze, trimmed from the bottom of the pot to expose the rough clay; the woven reed straps. This particular painting almost has the character of a portrait.