Can't Phase Me

P.H.A.S.E. T.W.O.

It was a beautiful July summer day. I was sitting on the backyard porch, starring at the painting I had started. It was immense. It was daunting. There was only one way to get it done: phases.  If I tried to work the canvas in horizontal sections it would lose uniformity. I was going to build up a massive surface image by painting in color phases. After I would go in and do detail work. 

I colored the distant mountains a watered down mix of copper and deep purple. I filled in the nearer mountain ranges with a watered hooker green, drawing in the forest contours with black and sap green. The rock and land became a dull violet beige. I started adding highlight to the water. And just like that I found my giant project's foundation was complete. Maybe it is not so big afterall.      

The Hundred Foot Painting

I developed a technique of portraying forested mountain ranges back in the fall of 2008. In one night I completed a 5-sketch series from some panoramic video footage I had of Kootenay Lake. The technique involved creating fast grids of inky 'tree lines' (they look like lines on the Richter scale) that intersect at progressive angles. It allowed me to dynamically portray forested mountain contours, fast.

"Kootenay Lake Panorama," Ink on Paper/Graphic Composite, October 2008

It is an essential technique when doing any landscape of or inspired by British Columbia. Especially if it is a very, very big one. 

I am thinking hard before I put the brush to the big white piece of fabric. The first stroke of a painting is the most important. The stroke is voluptuous, it sings a tune of harmony and endless possibility. The outline of an infinite, majestic landscape is revealed with ease and fluidity. The fence painting is luxurious, inspired by the  Chinese literati.

But something is very disappointing. The lines are bleeding out on the cotton from the amount of water mixed into the purple, green, black and iridescent acrylic paint.  The thin curves and detailed trees are becoming blobs. The artwork is totally unsatisfying to me. I hesitatingly ask my house mate johnny if he thinks adding color would ruin the piece. "Ruin?" he says, "definitely not." I begin with my favorite image: the water, I paint it a brilliant sapphire blue. Then I have to take a big step back and take a few deep, deep breaths. I have just begun a One Hundred Foot Painting. 

"I am a mad scientist... I mean artist."