Dirty Brushes, How I Hate You

I have never served as a studio assistant to another artist, neither have I had a studio assistant. However, there is one part of my job that I hate more than probably any other:

Washing my brushes.

I cannot explain the disdain I have for this most mundane of chores. Maybe it's that it is the most mundane of chores. After a long day of painting, the last thing I ever want to do is clean up brushes. So I often don't. And that's bad. Oils dry slowly, so the next morning I can often swish them in mineral spirits and get back to work. But brushes start to pile up as the week goes on. If on day 3 I don't use a brush I used on day 1 or 2, by day 4 that brush may be toast. Sometimes, I have the good sense to at least rub some Walnut Oil into them each night, which generally keeps them soft for a day or two extra. But inevitably, I'll paint until the last moment before having to do something on a Friday, be busy all weekend, and wake up Monday with a taboret full of stiff brushes.


That's when I break out the brush cleaner whether I like it or not:

THE MASTERS

It may be that this stuff is so good that I get so lazy. Time and again I've seen this soap revive brushes from rigor mortis, so I must subconsciously count on it to save my butt. But one way or another the dreaded day comes. Usually Saturday night, or perhaps at the completion of a painting, I have to gather them all up and clean them.

It took 25 minutes to wash these

I may be a whiner, but I'm not the only one. Note the following, from the opening of the opera "Tosca" by Puccini, wherein the Sexton of the church where Cavaradossi is painting complains:

"E sempre lava!... Ogni pennello è sozzo

peggio d'un collarin d'uno scagnozzo."
("Always washing!...Each brush is dirtier than a workman's collar!")

What A Week

Concentrated squee

Two weeks ago I was out of town. I spent a week out in the Berkshires painting in a big converted barn which was transformed into a shared art studio. I recently ruminated about being at Illuxcon last year and this one coming, and the wonder of sitting alongside such a select echelon of illustrators. That was dialed up a few notches in what I experienced at the Racebrook Retreat, where I was invited to join a dozen or so illustrators for a week of painting, talking, laughing and sharing. It was amazing.

I mean, it's one thing to be at Illuxcon, sitting among some of these artists, but to then be working side-by-side with them as colleagues was...wow. Granted, though we're all professionals, the group ranged from mid-career artists like myself to masters like Boris Vallejo and Michael Whelan. So it's not like these were all my peers, exactly, yet there was an air of mutual respect and fascination as we all worked on various projects, personal or for clients, and shared illustration war-stories.

I was, after all, one who owned not one but three Boris Vallejo T-shirts during my high school years. Yes, I was That Guy. Boris' "Fantasy Art Techniques" and Whelan's "Works of Wonder" were instrumental in making me pick up paints in high school at all, after years of pencil and colored pencil. So, some 20 years later, to be sitting alongside these two--painting, chatting about art and life was like some kid's dream come true...this kid's.

I was anxious going in because the last time I painted in the presence of other artists was probably art school (I've spent plenty of time drawing among other folk). Yet, as we set up our easels on Monday and I set out to work, the inspiring mood had me off and running, and there was never an awkward moment. And it's not like the rest of my company was made up of slouches:

(L-R): Winona Nelson, Lars Grant-West, Anthony Palumbo, Scott Brundage, Michael Whelan, Justin Gerard, Jordu Schell, Dan Dos Santos, Some Slouch, Chris Moeller, Julie Bell and Boris Vallejo, Ryan Pancoast (visiting), Dave Seeley

There's nothing like feeling like you need a fresh pair of eyes and having Dos Santos, Moeller and Whelan all available to bounce an idea off of (which I did, all to my painting's betterment). Earlier, I posted a study here for what I was working on, and the week went productively (the rain all week kept us focused). But that didn't stop us all getting up for a stretch on occasion. I made a point to spend some time watching everyone else work, asking questions and just absorbing the amazing array of approaches to painting. Every single one of us worked so differently from one another--even among us oil painters, who made up the bulk of the group.

L: My Guerilla Art Studio made it so I was as comfortable as I am at home.

When not painting, we were probably eating, but the talking never ceased. I've gotten to know many of the artists present over the years, but even those of us who didn't know each other well quickly and comfortably took to forming easy friendships. And when we stumbled to our rooms at 3 am after a late-night painting session, my roomies and I just kept talking like boys at a sleep-over for another half hour or so. Not quite 6 hours of sleep later we were up and at breakfast, ready to get going again. I normally can't function well on that amount of sleep after a couple of nights, but the atmosphere was such that I sprang out of bed each morning eager to get back to it, and energized. It was a revitalizing week, and I hope its positive effects have lasting results, as I regained a sharpened sense of focus and drive. I arrived home from the retreat and within 3 hours was joining the madness at New York Comic-Con, where I got to catch up with another group of incredible illustrators and friends. Monday after the convention, I collapsed from exhaustion and slept like a (insert simile).

Occasions such as these catch me by surprise. It's not that I feel totally unworthy or whatever of being among these folk, even though some of them are obviously far ahead of me in every respect (Boris and Whelan have been professional illustrators as long or longer than I've been alive, after all). It's just that when you spend your months and years working in isolation, going from job to job, it's sometimes a little surprising when you look up and find yourself in certain positions. It's like running--sometimes you have your head down and just concentrate on breathing and before you know it you've gone 10 miles.

I'll be debuting the painting I worked on at the World Fantasy Convention, which I finished this past Saturday.

Thanks to Dave Seeley for the photos!

Theft: The Risk of Conventions

(L, © Scott Altmann)

My buddy, illustrator Scott Altmann, shared a booth this past weekend with Dave Palumbo where they hung paintings and had available prints and books and stuff and generally did their best to have a good presence at a very, very noisy and crowded New York Comic-Con. It's one thing when an artist has a humble table at Artist Alley, as I've done many a year, but to spring for a booth adds a couple thousand dollars to your tab. It's not easy to pull off, and not even easy to get--I've tried to get a paid booth at San Diego Comic-con twice to split with other artists, and it's never worked.

Sunday, as the show wrapped up and they were beginning to tear down, Scott noticed that a large ~18x24" or so portfolio had disappeared from his table. At this point, most folk have been shooed out of the hall, but perhaps in the business of hauling out packing boxes and stuff, someone must've walked by and snagged that portfolio. Not easy to do--it was located in the booth, on a table that butted up to the display. Perhaps he'd already closed it (making it easier), I don't know. I do know that I had been chatting with them both up to about 15 minutes before the close of the show, and the portfolio was still there at the time. In that portfolio are pages of large and small drawings and preparatory works, all originals. A lot of money and effort was wrapped up in them. He's begun a post where he's showing some of what was in there, in case any of you see the stuff on eBay or elsewhere. It's a long-shot, but you never know--tweet or Facebook post it enough and it might get scared out of the brush.

Folks probably steal from the big companies at these shows--that's bad, too, but I'm not going to shed too many tears for those with annual profits larger than I'll earn in my entire life, cumulatively. Almost every illustrator I know, however, fights and struggles to maintain their existence. So, this hits home for me. Further, I've had the same happen to me. Let me explain:

I mentioned recently that conventions and my birthday don't mix. There, I mentioned Lucca. This Italian comics and games festival is a highlight of Europe's scene, and I bought a small booth in 2005 while I was living in Italy. It was a week before leaving to England, and the show was fantastic--or would've been. I had a medical emergency that weekend, and missed half the show and my birthday. Further, when we arrived on Sunday morning, I'd had stuff stolen.

Most conventions have pretty good security and so each night, people move their items off their tables and underneath, or to the back of their booths in boxes. Big companies have locked cases or areas for storing stock, but the plebes have to make do with storing stuff in less secure ways. It had never been a problem--shows like San Diego have armies of bouncers that systematically clear each row with arms linked like a human chain. Lucca--not so much apparently, and overnight someone had snuck into my booth, under my table, and grabbed what seemed like two handfuls of artwork in a pile. In that pile were all my original drawings (no bigger than 8.5x11", individually bagged), most of my prints (same size), and about 10 small original paintings (same size). The feeling was horrible--I'd just had stolen from me more money than I'd earned, and more than the costs associated with the convention itself. We'd already missed half the show, and with a day left I had lost most of what was going to sell in the way of small items, not to mention some paintings which I quite liked. Despite the security lapse, which I hope was remedied in subsequent years, the staff were helpful. I filed a police report on-site, which was all I could do. I told them there was no point in me staying since I couldn't sell anything anymore--I only had left to me large items, which you're lucky to sell one of in a convention if at all. Thank God they didn't steal any of those. They offered up a volunteer to drive us home (a couple of hours, which was nice of them, though we spent it silently brooding) and we retreated.

The convention reported it (I think) to the local paper, and a small article was printed in the Lucca paper within days. Then, the impossible happened. Within a few days, just as we were leaving to England, the show's organizer called me on the phone. A package had been mailed or left at the office's door. It seems the thief had had his conscience pricked and decided to return all the original art. They kept the prints, which was fine by me, but within a week or two I had them mailed to me. It was a stunning turn of events after a nightmare weekend.

So, I don't know if Scott's situation will prove as positive, but crazier things have happened.

On the Board

I'm away this week, so I prewrote this last week, but I'm working still. If all is going according to plan, there is a 24x30" board in front of me and I'm in good company. On that board, in some state of unfinished, is this:

 

Once again, the benefit of being able to show you stuff while it's still hot or even still baking is quite nice. That may not happen again for a few months after this.

Museum Studies, Pt.2

(R): Indian Lion, 8x5.75" Pastel pencil on paper (purchase info)

I've mentioned elsewhere that I use Canson paper a lot, glued to masonite for painting. Incidentally, around the time I mentioned that, I've mainly stopped using it. Regardless, over time I've accumulated odds and ends, which I trimmed down into mostly ~6x8" sheets, and these have been my primary paper for doing these studies. It's a good size, and insures I won't be there all day working on one thing. I've sometimes used them to do preliminary sketches for illustrations.

Not long ago, as I was running out of these extras, I picked up a pad of Canson sheets, in multiple colors, all of which were ones I'd use anyway. Canson comes in two textures--smoother and orange-peel. Since 8th grade, whenever I've used Canson, I used the smoother side, which still has a nice tooth. The orange-peel side was way too textured, it seemed, to do any detailed work on.  So imagine my surprise when the Canson pad had the orange-peel side face-up in the pad. It seems that's the side they think I should be working on! Needless to say, I've taken to tearing pages off and drawing on what I now know is the "back side."

I usually carry a selection of papers with me, and a bag full of drawing tools. As I consider what I'm about to draw, I'll pull out paper and tools I feel are appropriate for capturing whatever it is. Since I'm working on toned paper (vs. always white of the Figure Drawing stuff) some of the time, I've included pastel pencils in my kit. I've been using Faber-Castell's Pitt Pastel line, which come in a full palette range and can hold a point decently well. They're smudgeable, but not so much that you are afraid to breathe on them.

Andean Condor, 6x7.75" Pencil on paper (purchase info)

The Andean Condor is massive, its wingspan could easily have warranted a page thrice the width. My main purpose for drawing it, however, was to practice the wing portion pictured here, in preparation for an illustration.  For things which I want to study in more detail, I still often default to pencil, since it has the finest point of my dry media and is still the thing I'm most accustomed to, having used it since before kindergarten.