Some Paintings...

...are like jigsaw puzzles. They come together one section, or piece to the puzzle, at a time.


You can divide this into positive and negative shapes. Think of the positive space as the big shapes, or the large blades of grass.


These shapes are defined by the negative space around them, in this case the jumbles of smaller blades.


By painting the negative space then cleaning up the edges with a razor blade, the pieces (or big blades of grass) fit in neatly.


Oh, and I case I forgot to mention, these three paintings are all mounted on a neat box made of discarded pieces of the gallery's floor, from when it was refinished years ago.


-jb.

I Left This For Last...

...because I thought it would be the easiest of the series of studies. I have to learn to replace "easiest" with "least really frigging difficult" because nothing is ever easy.


I also remember that this reference photo was a pain to get.


Because of the vagaries of the moon and tidal strength, three afternoons in a row I was standing out in the marsh, looking at water that would would not come in far enough.


But once I figured out the reflections, the painting came together like a jigsaw puzzle, using negative shapes to define the things to be painted.


But you will notice that while the snails reflections were painted, the snails themselves were not.


This is because the reflections have a fuzzy edge to them, while the snails themselves must be crisp and sharp, so I let the paint dry first to get a sharp edge (then forgot to photograph the result).

-jb.

Because I Wanted To Try Painting Stars...

...I started with the night series at high tide first.


The image transfer just left a jumble of charcoal lines, and although I usually only use one layer for studies, here I made an exception and threw in burnt sienna and umber for anything not sky or water.


Then the sky went in, and to my surprise it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be paint a star, then color in the sky around it, leaving it to look like it is shining through the sky.


I did the same for the reflected stars in the water.


Finally, after waiting a couple of weeks for the moon to return, I spent a couple of nights taking notes on the the color of grass under the moonlight, and completed the marsh grass in two sittings.


-jb.

Usually When I Fall Off A Ladder...

...some variant of "Man, that was stupid!" runs through my head. But this time it was "Hmmm, that is kind of a pretty view!" And in need of a subject for a series of studies to work out the different qualities of light in a day, I was sold on the subject.


The next day (because at this point I was covered head to toe in mud, shivering, and my shooting time was therefore over) I went out to catch the sunset.


Dirty work, shooting from a low angle perspective (also known as "worm's eye view") but the view is unique.


It is also a bit stressful, as the high tide shots required the camera to be just inches above several inches of camera killing water.


But I did what I do whenever I am in this type of situation, and reminded myself that my camera is worth about the same as my car, that I am therefore holding my car in my hands, so do not choose this moment to be a klutz. Even though being a klutz got me here, by falling off a ladder!

-jb.

Speaking of My 100th Landscape...

...maybe I should explain how I got to that number, or, how I title my paintings.


This was my first painting on canvas, in acrylics, completed when I was about 15. It was probably titled something silly like, "Valley in Vermont" or some other sad trope. But in college, my school was directly across from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and I spent an inordinate amount of time within it's halls. One thing I noticed is that as soon as someone was drawn to a painting, the first thing they would do is read the label giving the title, artist name, and other details. While I did not know what went through the viewer's mind, sometimes this info would cause them to completely abandon a painting they were otherwise drawn to. Most landscapes were either named after the place, or the place was included in the information. I wondered if a person's preformed idea of a place would alter their relationship with a painting of that place.


So I wanted nothing at all to do with titles that would influence my viewers relationship with my paintings. Being a giant fan of 70's minimalism, I went with "untitled landscape #_" for my titles. But having to start somewhere with a number sequence, I retroactively gave the above painting the honor of "untitled landscape #1" as it was the my first truly successful (for reasons perhaps only known to me) landscape painting in oil.


But gallery owners HATE untitled series #_ and want real, pretty titles. To be dead honest, I kind of agree with them and acquiesced for the simple reason that keeping straight the difference between painting #37 and #38 on numbers alone, two months, let alone two years down the line, is a giant chore. But keeping the system already in place, I shortened "untitled landscape #" to simply "ul#" and added on a title in parenthesis. So the above image is "ul 25 (a tribute to Georgia O'Keefe)."


Most of the the time, the titles are not so specific, as once again, I care not to influence a viewer's idea of a painting with something as benign as a title. But it was the view from her front porch in Ghost Ranch, New Mexico, so in this case I made an exception. Besides, I've had a poster of one her paintings since I was like seven. It is the least I could do to repay the favor of her works' influence on me. Mostly painting titles come from songs I had running through my head at the time, like the one above "ul 50 (samson)."


Or, when they are a series or body of work, track names from the album I had playing in my studio at the time. Vainly, I hope one day to have a retrospective at a big museum. Then, instead of the audio tour with some narrator waxing philosophic about the lengths I went to create, the influences on my work, my intentions, etc. (for which you have this blog, my dear reader, minus the annoying voice over), you can take the other option, simply a soundtrack of each painting's song when you stand in front of it. For the one above, "ul 75 (the bagman's gambit)," you would be listening to The Decembrists in my pipe dream retrospective.


Which brings me to my latest painting, "ul 100 (carriers of the light)." The song is by Brendan James, and explains why he continues to sing. I thought it fitting, for not only having an infectious tune, it also could explain why I continue to paint. And hopefully this extremely long blog post also explains how much I think about you as the viewer, and thank you for viewing, and caring for and about, my paintings. Thanks, and on to 101!

-jb.

There's A Reason...

...that my 100th landscape painting is better than my first, and it might not be as simple as the fact that I painted 98 in between the two. It is the systems of creating the paintings that I am constantly developing and then refining that make each painting better (with some exceptions) than the last. My newest system is using a color grid of all the colors I use in each layer of each painting.



The colors on the right of this panel I'm holding up in front of my painting are from the first layer of paint. On the second layer (to the left), I not only get to tighten the detail, but by using comparison, get to refine the color to create atmosphere.



You might think the marsh is all one tone, but in reality the oranges and browns go from dark and deep in the foreground to light and faded in the distance. On the right of the color grid (first layer) the colors are broken into background, middleground, and foreground. In the second layer (left side), these three steps were split into five, to make the transition even more subtle. This use of shifting tones creates a natural perspective and adds atmosphere. Oh, and by the way, the top green colors were for the fading of the horizon line, while the bottom three colors were for the grass reflections in the water, and I only used the darkest of these in the foreground reflections.

-jb.

A Couple Of Detail Shots...

...from my recently completed painting.


Here is the sky going in.


The sky and horizon line complete, you can see the subtle curve of the earth.


Not the best shot, but here the water and reflections are going in, with the gradient curved to pull your eye back into the painting.


Water, reflections, and most marsh complete, the foreground grasses are ready to be painted.


Notice the darkening from back to front (for the next blog post) which builds perspective along with the sharp blades of individual grass standing up to define their space.


Finally, the grass is done and the second layer of paint complete!

-jb.

My 100th Landscape...

...is finished! And it only took me 14 years to get to this number! Irony aside, I think it is the untold hours in front an easel that I spend on each painting that make my paintings distinctly my paintings, so I care not that it has taken this long. Mainly because the best part is, I am still learning! And I put almost all of what I have learned into making this one:


-jb.

Sometimes Life Gets In The Way...

...of painting. Sometimes painting gets in the way of blogging. Then sometimes your camera phone dies and all of it becomes just that much harder. And sometimes are these times. But, as I pool through digital piles of various photos and try and remember where I left off, then figure out how to start again, all I can promise is my blogging will be back with a vengeance. Tomorrow...

-jb.

Drink Coffee, Stuff A Ballot Box...

...and overthrow a third world government. Just kidding! You will actually be helping my friend’s non-profit and a very underserved community of very bright kids. First you need a Starbucks card. You can get one for as little as $5.00 at any Starbucks (and then use if for purchases). Or you can "egift" one to yourself online. To do this, go to https://www.starbucks.com/shop/card/ and click on "egift" in the middle of the picture of the card and follow the instructions. Follow the instructions to open an account and register your card. Then, go to www.votegivegrow.com and sign in with your account info. When you log in, it brings you directly to your "local" page. On the map to the right of the page, at the top, it says "Change Region". If you click on that, you can enter a zip code, which will then bring you to your new chosen community, with voting enabled. Use the zip code is 85321. This will take you to the page on which you can vote for the International Sonoran Desert Alliance (ISDA). AND there's a button for getting a reminder about voting next week! So please, take a couple of minutes to help these people, because karma is a good thing...

- jb boyd

Big Things...

...are coming together in the panel making room. The Gray Bay panels are cut and sealed, needing only a coat of black paint on the cut edges, and the saw got it's final coat of oil ground and will be ready to go in a few days.


The oil ground is tinted with burnt sienna, which kills the obnoxious white and replaces it with a warm pink to build the paintings on.

- jb boyd

This Bucket Thinger...

...is coming up aces! And with the return of afternoon thunderstorms to the landscape, it makes for some pretty dramatic photographs.


Now the wisdom of hanging out on a ladder twenty feet above anything else for a good quarter of a mile while storm clouds gather overhead and lightning strikes in the distance could be questioned, so can the wisdom of most anything I do.


But if I get zapped, at least I was doing what I love, and had a great view to boot...

- jb boyd

This Blog Has...

...no picture. Mainly because I am one of those law abiding air travelers who actually waits for the all clear to turn on their electronic devices, and by then we were over the Pine Barrens. But next time you are flying, look at the color temperature of the ground lights. It is changing from the yellow of iridescent to the blue of compact fluorescent. The next generation will never know the yellow. Their offspring will fly through solely reflected light, because by then somebody will realize that circular globes only appease the gods, and waste the energy that should be lighting your footsteps. It all changes, which makes me pause in my defense of only painting under lights. But the main point, which I should return to (to make this an acceptable art blog post), is that art is making the visual of the now. Because it will change, and every moment is fleeting. So I choose paint, and more specifically choose the longevity of oil paint, because in 2020, 3030, or 4040 will anyone know what Betamax was, let alone Blue Ray?

And by the way, find you own art flying out of your hometown airport. The landscape of your childhood might be encompassed by a window frame, the limits of your adolescence may pass by in a trip to the restroom, and your future, well, may that be ever so lightly obscured by the clouds...

- jb boyd

When you walk..

...into a tidal flat, at night, on a flood tide, there is this irrational fear that the first step will submerge you up to your waist. The water, flat and still, is opaque and black as oil, seeming as deep as a barrel. Of course you don't sink, except that little muddy bit that sloshes water around the feet of your boots. Soon though, as you walk out, water begins to trickle in through that cut by your ankle. But you continue on, undaunted. Halfway there, you realize your boots aren't tall enough and you roll up your pants. When the ladder is in sight, you realize no amount of rolling will save your pants from getting thoroughly wet, and cursing the tide app that you now know why only got two stars, check your pockets to move your iPhone to higher ground. Four steps to go, and you know this black seeping darkness might reach the point of really uncomfortable, but you are almost there, and already very wet, so you practically jump to the safety of the ladder. Kicking one foot at a time up and back to dump the water out of your boots, you smile as you ascend the ladder. Mainly because this view greets you, and cold is only temporary.


Unfortunately, even with bucket science (as a devoted reader and very funny friend called it), Photoshop doesn't know what to do with this nighttime sonata (see earlier post), and it needs to be stitched manually. Hence the vertical lines. Oh well, life isn't supposed to be perfect, and that is also why there is a Plan C...

- jb boyd

When you don't know how to...

...do almost anything, there's a good chance someone who spends their life doing it has written a book on it. Love your library, or in this case, Amazon. More specifically, big thanks to Harold Woeste, author of Mastering Digital Panoramic Photography, and it's pretty stellar publisher of stuff I need to know, Rocky Nook publications. While he did not recommend the bucket or ball bearings, Woeste's excellent book gave me the knowledge and understanding to come to my own results. Speaking of, look how seamless this horizon line is.



You can actually see the earth curve, and this is only the first of many! Stay tuned for clouds...

- jb boyd

It's All Ball Bearings Nowadays Boys...

...now bring me a cup of fat and the head of Alfredo Garcia while you're back there.



Sorry for the mashup of Fletch quotes, but I couldn't resist, for it is ball bearings embedded in the lid of this bucket that makes my new favorite photo toy work so well. It is an artist's budget (aka whatever is lying around) virtual reality head that can take perfectly aligned 360 degree panoramic photographs.



The possibilities make me giddy (anyone have a dome they would commission me to paint?) and flat out laugh at how quickly and easily the panoramas come together. Instead of toiling away for hours on each one, I let the computer do the work while I paint.



The black pieces of tape let me repeat the same capture of the landscape day or night, and I don't even have to risk life (or mostly limb) having to lean off the ladder to look through the viewfinder.



With the ladder fastened tight to the earth, I can even take long exposures in the wind. Over the course of a month or two, I will create a photo archive of Gray Bay, at high tide through low tide, bright sunshine to moonlight. Results to follow...

- jb boyd

The Clouds Are Back...

...the clouds are back! Which means summer is right around the corner. Oh well, one out of two ain't bad. But now that the SC skies get their daily companions, the landscapes take on a whole new dimension, like this photo of Colonial Lake.


More on that later, but in the meantime apologies for the long interval in between posts. My thumbs cracked which made using my one stop blog machine (ie my iPhone) very painful. But hopefully in the next week or two I can get caught up. Cheers!

When A Picture...

...isn't worth a thousand words, you have to blog about it. Here, I varnished my paintings that have fully dried for a year. Not only does the layer of varnish protect a work like a removable layer of sunscreen, but it unifies the surface into a perfect matte sheen. It is when I consider a painting fully finished, and along with a fresh coat of paint for the frames, it gives me goose bumps of pure joy.


But alas, the photo does no justice. So buy one, take it home on approval, and if it isn't worth a thousand words of pure joy to you, you children, or your children's children, I'll buy it back from you (or your children, or your children's children), plus shipping!

- jb boyd

Sometimes Things Don't Work Out...

...and you have to go to Plan B. Here is what is supposed to be a night time panoramic photograph.


Oh well. Plan B is solid, and if not, there is always Plan C. Anyone have a post hole digger???

- jb boyd

Looks Like I'm Done...

...dragging the ladder for a while. I've found the angle I want, so now the real photography can begin in earnest.


Methodically over the next ten days (and just in time to catch the full moon), I will catch high tides, low tides, bright light to moonlight.


This photograph represents the scale and scope of this series of paintings.

- jb boyd

After Painting In The Reflections...

...this painting is really coming to life.


There are still a few pink spots (from the tinted base layer) showing through, but as this layer will be covered by another, it is not expedient to worry about every last blade of grass. That's what the final layer is for!


Finally, because numbers to me are simply numbers, this pic should help show the scale of the works in progress. The smallest rectangle is a dollar bill. But if you are a numbers person, from top to bottom and in inches the dimensions are: 2.75 x 6, 2.75 x 16, and 8 x 60.

- jb boyd