We Portrait Artists

We Portrait Artists

Jackson, Oil on Canvas, 24w x 30h, by Pat Aube Gray

When young, we noticed a person with awesome beauty or features seemingly carved from stone, or a mature elder, a long life etched into his face, seeping from the outer corners of sentient eyes.  That face elicited a persistent gnawing, an ache too overwhelming to ignore.  We took crayon in hand, then, later, a pencil, and naively drew that face on paper, any paper, even a napkin.  We placed cockeyed features on out-of-shape heads and produced quasi-likenesses.  To become better, we turned to those who were - in books, on videos, at schools, at workshops - for drawing skills, technical knowledge, color and temperature comprehension, composition and edge sensitivity.  We sought enlightenment - to learn to “see,” which is to feel, an attitude suggested by a pose or tilt of a head, and the often elusive emotion emanating from the eyes.

We worked in graphite and charcoal, smearing ebony dust into shadows with tortillons or our fingers.  We used pastels, sticks of chalk-like color; we needed hundreds of them, one in every hue, in multiple values, because they could not be mixed.  We employed aqueous media, managing to control with a brush the unbridled flow of tinted water on specially treated paper.  We painted in oil, which, in the days of the Old Masters – Rembrandt, DaVinci, Caravaggio, Vermeer - was finely ground pigment, found in nature, mixed into linseed oil.   More recently, brilliant, audacious oil colors contained chemical additives.

We prepared our surfaces, wood panel or canvas, brushing on layers of rabbit skin glue or gesso, sanding between coats until they had the preferred texture.  We placed one on our easel, its center at our eye level.  We wore old clothes or an apron dappled with dried paint that had been dripped or wiped from hands or a brush.  We twisted caps off tubes of paint, squeezed a mound of white near the edge of a palette of varnished wood.  To its right, along the edge, we placed a smaller squirt of each warm color, from light to dark (yellows, oranges, reds, siennas); to the left, the same for cool colors (blues and greens), followed by earth tones (ochres, umbers, greys.)  We left the center empty, space for mixing colors.  On our taboret stood an old can of our best brushes, bristles up, a jar of turpentine, a small cup of damar varnish, palette knives, and lint-free rags or paper towels.    We placed our model before us, usually on a platform, at our eye level, and shone a light on him for the best pattern of light and shadow.  We took a deep breath, tried to calm our nerves.  It was time to paint.

With a brush loaded with a thinned, middle-dark neutral, we loosely drew the head and shoulders and blocked in shadow areas.  On our palette we mixed four or five values, from light to dark, of our subject’s skin tone.  With brushes, we carefully laid them in, leaving the shadow areas as they were, squinting at the model to distinguish the lights, middles, darks, and then warming or cooling the color as necessary.  We roughed in the ears, the eyes, the contours of the face, the nose and mouth. We added a little more red here, a little blue there.  We mixed and loosely scrubbed paint into the hair and clothing.  We stepped back so, with just a slight shift of our eyes, we could view the model and compare it to the painting.  We assessed proportions; was the bottom of the nose the right distance from the eyes, were the lips the right distance from the bottom of the nose, was the chin too long, was the forehead too short, were the eyes too far apart?  We moved back to the easel, rubbed out paint with a rag and made corrections, constantly measuring with our eyes.  Once we saw our subject on the easel, we reveled in the joy of it, felt the flutter of euphoria in our very being.  We lovingly touched the surface with careful, deliberate strokes, “combed” the hair, softened edges, moderated transitions in value, sharpened edges.  We perfected the eyes, the color of the irises, captured the magical translucence, dotted in the highlights.  When, finally, the portrait looked back at us as the model did, that thing we were meant to do was done.  A wisp of air escaped our lips, a sigh of relief, a soft whisper of fulfillment.  We smiled.  Then we wondered who would be next.

Portrait in Progress

I am currently working on two portraits, going back and forth as necessary to keep working as paint is drying. I don't usually do this but I really must complete these, so I am putting in every effort to complete them as soon as I can. My clients have been incredibly understanding of the delays and I don't want to keep them waiting any longer than I have to.

The work in progress I am showing on the left (detail above) shows the painting with only the face in a greater state of completion than the initial block-in. The painting on the right is at its current stage which includes a more complete upper half background, the hat and right arm with more work done on them, and new paint applied to part of the shirt. When I view images on the computer I get to see them in a new light, so to speak, and areas that need more work become more apparent to me. For example, I want to lighten the boy's upper lip on his right and darker side. It is a little too dark, I think. If you click on the image of the more complete detail above, you should see what I am referring to.

I will post some new photos as I make more progress.

Back to the Drawing Board

Reilly, graphite on paper, 11 x 14

While recovering from shoulder surgery that I had in August, I found I could draw in my lap. I completed this drawing of Reilly over a 3-4 week period, doing as much as I could at one sitting. I have since completed a couple of watercolors and in the past ten days have done a couple of small, loosely rendered oils. Hopefully I will be back to blogging soon. I am in physical therapy right now and assume that will speed up the use of my painting arm.

Finally, a New Post!

I can't believe that my last post was on June 12th and it is now July 2nd! MUCH has happened since then and I have been very busy. I have had several diagnostic tests and have found that I have a very significant tear in my right rotator cuff and must have surgery. And yes, that is my painting arm. My son has been staying with us for the past several weeks and is probably staying on a semi-permanent basis. His three teen-age kids were also with us for a week during this time. My sister arrived while all of them were still here and Tom was out of town for 2 weeks! I have a new employee at the frame shop/gallery and my talented student, Alexandria, is with me three days a week. I have just completed my portrait of Jonathan (photo below) and am now working on the next. And then last week, my wonderful daughter, Kerry, who wears an artificial right leg, fell and broke her left ankle! Need I say more?

Now back to Art Matters! Below is the completed painting of Jonathan, the early stages of which I have posted before. His mother and sister love it and the father will be surprised! Click on images to view a larger version.

Copyright Pat Aube Gray, Oil on Linen, 32 x 48

Next I want to do a little bragging about Alexandria, who will be a senior in high school come September. When she first came to me last year, her drawings were very typical of almost any sixteen year old. Her interest was in drawing faces, but those she had previously produced were flat and cartoonish, lacking form and antomical accuracy. After only one three hour lecture, with little thumbnail demos in explanation of form and values, dimension and structure, etc., Alexandria's true ability was immediately apparent. She was instantly able to grasp the concepts and apply them to her work. In a rush to paint, her first painting was actually a portrait and she did a very good job. Then on to a still life from a setup, which is now framed and hanging in her parents' home - it was that good! We are now back to the basics, using the atelier concept of drawing first, painting later, as drawing is the foundation for all two-dimensional art. In addition to drawing from life, I have Alexandria copying from Charles Bargue plates, the same as those used in French Academies during the mid nineteenth century.
When you see the photo below, I think you will agree that she is making great progress!

Graphite on Toned Paper, highlighted with white charcoal, 18 x 24

I have a couple of small paintings completed and will most likely post them tomorrow. Until then, have a great evening and remember that Art Matters!

More Portrait Parts

I'm making some good progress, though not as quickly as I'd like. Life seems to get in the way of painting time way too often!
In case you don't know, if you click on the photos you can see an enlarged image!
The hand is still only roughed in and while the head is more than roughed in, it is certainly not complete. I glazed over the too-red hair underpainting with its complement, green, to dull down the red some because I find it way too distracting and throws off my choices for other areas. But it is still far from done as well.
I opted for a green shirt instead of the blue he actually was wearing for three reasons: it is more compatible with what his sister is wearing, it is more harmonious with the painting, and knowing where it will hang makes this the better color. Shirts are still not complete, but made a giant leap here.

Working on the Boy

I've worked now on the face as I don't want to put a ton more effort into the clothing and the background until I am comfortable that I have a good likeness going. This is only the first round of working on the head. That will continue throughout the painting process until it all fits together well and the boy looks like he could turn and talk to you. His hair is merely blocked in with mixtures of burnt sienna, burnt umber and some yellow ochre. But his hair, though it has some red in it, is not nearly as red as it is in this underpainting. I will work next on his hand and get the clothing going and also start to put some of the detail in the background, a few more trees between him and the distant hedgerow. In case you can't tell, that's a skateboard he's holding onto. Most important thing in his life right now!

With the exception of modifying the background as I work on the boy's painting (to keep them well harmonized), I won't begin the girl's head and body, etc. until I feel the boy is 99% complete.
See the last post for the last pics I posted of the two paintings.

Your comments are welcome - click on the word comments below.

Art From the Heart

Following the events of September 11, 2001, friend and fellow artist, Lisa Gleim, participated in a project in which artists painted portraits of firefighters killed on that horrific day and donated them to their families. Later, she proposed the idea of painting soldiers from Georgia who had died in service of their country in either Iraq or Afghanistan to four friends, Geraldine Zaki, Leah Henry, Fran Milner and me. Together we formed the Atlanta Fine Arts League (AFAL) in 2005 to spearhead this noble project, which we call Art From the Heart. While the AFAL has taken on a life of its own in the past year which I will discuss in another post, Art From the Heart remains our primary current objective. Approximately seventy Georgia soldiers have died thus far while serving in Iraq or Afghanistan. Portrait artists have been ready and willing to step up to the plate to do their part and many portraits are either complete or in the works. The paintings are being donated to the families of our fallen heroes. We will paint two in cases where there is, say, a surviving spouse and parent(s). We are having a little more difficulty finding ways to contact all of the families. If anyone reading this knows such a family, please ask them to email atlantafineartsleague@yahoo.com and tell us of their interest.
We ask the family to provide us with photos, details about their loved one, and to describe the soldier's personality to us. Since we are unable to meet the person, knowing something about him or her is helpful. Paintings are being given to the families as they are completed and, if they so choose, they will be included in a special exhibition of all these portraits to be held at the Patriots' Museum in Atlanta in the fall of 2007.
There is a great deal of emotion for the artist in painting these commemorative portraits. Talking to the family and becoming involved in their pain as well as their pride gives us just a small sampling of what they have endured and the loss they have suffered. There is also, however, a tremendous feeling of satisfaction in being able to give something that you hope will be treasured for decades to come by those who have endured such pain.
So now it is time for you to meet "my soldier," United States Marine Corporal William (Billy) G. Taylor, killed in action November 30, 2005 at the age of 26 in Al Anbar Province, Iraq. Fellow marines with whom Billy served have left messages for his family on the Fallen Heroes website, and they remember the great love Billy had for his little daughter, Leah. Billy's mother, Catherine Krattli, has told me of his Indian heritage; she is Aztec and Yaqi and his father was Cherokee. Billy joined the Marines after 9/11 feeling it his duty to protect his daughter and his country. He served for two and a half years in Washington, DC, standing guard at the funeral of Ronald Reagan when Former President George H. W. Bush and his wife Barbara paid their respects. He was a member of the Marine firing squad for funerals and, as he participated in the 21 gun salute at one, he became the focus of the eye of a National Geographics camera for a special on how each branch of the military bury their dead. Billy was known for his contagious smile. His mother misses him every day.
It is now Sunday, April 1, 2007, and I am adding to this story. Yesterday I met Cathy Krattli and Leah in person for the first time. Though the painting was still wet and I couldn't give it to her, I did bring the completed portrait (finished the night before) for her and Leah to see. It was a very emotional event for me and what an amazing story I have to tell.
Cathy and Leah were in Blairsville to perform with their native American group, The Drum, at a newly opened store here selling native crafts. When I arrived, they were already performing, the men sitting and the women standing in a circle around a large drum playing and singing Indian songs. There was a chief in full native regalia who spoke, sang and danced around the group. Between songs, I met Cathy for the first time and we hugged and I spoke to beautiful five year old Leah, Billy's daughter. I told them that I had the painting with me if they would like to see it. Of course they did and I retrieved it. At the next break in their performance, Cathy and another woman in The Drum, herself a veteran, Leah and her stepfather, Mike, came over to see the painting. Cathy's response was astonishment, saying that it was Billy, that it looked just like him, and tears came to her eyes. I asked Leah if she knew who was in the painting and she answered, "Daddy." That's when I started to cry. Cathy, a Gold Star Mother, said she wanted to show the painting to the other members in the group, most of whom were veterans, and asked if I could wait for the next break in the performance. I waited, of course, and the next thing I knew the chief handed Cathy the microphone, the painting was shown to the band members and the audience, the project was explained and I was told they wanted to give me a special blessing. Cathy explained that this is done by only the women in the group and is usually reserved for other women. (Little did I know what was coming.) I had to stand in the middle of a circle formed by the ladies and the painting was placed right side up atop the drum, facing the sky. The women then beat on hand held leather drums with sticks with padded leather ends on them and sang, in beautiful melodic voices, a lovely song in a language I didn't understand. I was facing Cathy and could not help but say as she was singing that Billy had her eyes, which I knew well from painting them. She choked up a little during the song. It was a very emotional event.
Billy's step-dad, Mike, commented on Billy's mustache in the painting. "He was always working on that," he said. It is amazing how a little thing can bring back a flood of memories.
I am very thankful that now I,too, have a wonderful memory to cherish.