I am so pleased with this painting.  For me, 22" x 28" is large. 

When I started working on bigger canvases, they scared me.  Now, I'm seeing some of my best work, ever.

At the moment, I have eight canvases in progress.  I completed the first one today... that's the 22" x 28" canvas that I'm talking about here. 

Working on a larger canvas (and a pressing deadline with a show in July) is forcing me to simplify my compositions and go directly to the bolder colors that I love.

The subject of this painting is three trees by a path.  The colors depict how Bush Park (near Houston, Texas) looked at dawn on a foggy morning when I went out there to paint. 

What I like best may be how my artistic voice is emerging in these works.  For me, this is courageous and a little scary, but also tremendously satisfying.

Here's another of the five paintings that I've started in the past week. I consider it one of the best starts so far. It's big and bold. I like the composition.

With minor tweaking--mostly, adding more color to increase color density and saturation--it's nearly done. (I'm still deciding how much to soften the edges.)

I'm painting it from memory using a few reference photos.

After I finished my foggy morning sketch a few weeks ago, I lingered in the park and kept taking photos as the sun emerged.

One composition leaped out at me, and I knew that I wanted to paint it, but the sun was burning through the fog too quickly.

The original photo for this painting is at the left. For my work, I've cropped it and made some obvious composition changes.

Mostly, after some minor (and slightly demoralizing) trial-and-error, I've realized that horizontal compositions are easier for me. So, since my current goal is to have about a dozen completed paintings for my upcoming show, I'll save challenging compositions for later. Most of my current pieces will be horizontal designs.

This painting--with maybe an hour's work in it--is hanging in my living room right now. I keep looking at it, affirming that I really can paint big and bold and like what I do. I'm pleased.

Three Trees / oil painting on canvas / 22" x 28"

It's still a challenge. I keep wanting to reach for that size 2 paintbrush and apply tiny, perfect brushstrokes to paintings that are just starts.

Take this start for example. It's a painting of a Maine harbor at dawn. I was adjusting the colors and values, and... well, before I knew it, I was reaching for my tiniest brush to tweak the reflections in the water.

Arrgghh! I mean, really, the values aren't quite right in the water. That alizarin area will become rocks as I complete the painting. So, why am I working on reflections?

Okay, that's a rhetorical question. I know what's going on; this is an old, bad habit. It's so beyond 'fussy', it's bordering on neurotic.

That said, I am breaking these old, bad habits. Larger canvases are definitely helping. And, I did this 'fussy' stuff on just one of the five canvases I've started in the past week. I consider that a victory.

Dawn along coastal Maine // oil on canvas // 15" x 30"

This painting doesn't look like much right now, but I'm pleased anyway. This is a start on a 30" x 40" canvas, which is huge for me.

I began by covering the canvas with cadmium red as an mid-tone underpainting. That's what's showing through, especially where the water will be. (I had painted over it, but the color and tone weren't right, so I scrubbed off most of the newer layer.)

Mostly, I'm pleased to have the general lights & darks in place. I can already see things that I want to change, but I'm waiting for this layer to dry, first.

This is the first of five larger canvases that I'm working on. Generally, I've realized that larger canvases are actually easier, in some ways. I'm forced to paint areas of color and tone, jigsaw-puzzle style, and keep my subject almost abstract at this stage of the work.

Subject: York Harbor, Maine / oil on canvas / 30" x 40"

At the moment, I have about a dozen canvases in progress. Some are in the early, demoralizing, "what can save this picture?" mode.

That's where I was yesterday morning with one of my dawn sketches of Bush Park, near my home.

That's it, at right. It's a 9" x 12" oil painting on canvas board. The composition is okay, but the colors and especially the values were... well, disappointing. Insipid. Blah.

So, inspired by my recent success at stepping up color and contrast in other paintings, I worked on this some more. Wow! It made an amazing difference.

This painting isn't finished yet -- I figure two or three more days' work to complete it -- but I'm very pleased with it now. That's it, at left.

The colors in this photo aren't accurate. Even the tone is a little off. But, I think you can see where this painting is going. (I'll tweak the color better before I post this image in My Gallery at this site. It'll be at least a week, since I want this layer of oil paint to dry before I paint again.)

For me, this is encouragement.  Even the most ho-hum painting may be saved by adding more drama to color and contrast. 

I started this color study two days ago, when the dark blue-lavender of low clouds--plus some orange-ish early morning sunlight--highlighted the astonishing range of colors in a park near my home.

Initially, I was going to keep the colors subtle in this piece. However, when I started painting today, I decided to portray these hues as vividly as they impress me when I drive through the park most days.

Right now, it's early spring in southeast Texas, heralded by some fresh green grass and darker clover. Most of the grass is shades of red, orange and brown, with a little sand peeking through.

I painted with broad strokes and thick paint, and surprised myself when I stepped back and took a good look at my painting.

This is one of those paintings that I'd like to keep, but my upcoming show in Maine will feature only work that's for sale... and that's the pressing deadline right now.  This painting will be in that show.

That said, I'm very pleased with myself right now. I'm a better artist than I'd realized.

[Regarding yesterday's post about the big white canvas: I'm still applying layers of gesso to my new canvases. That gives me a little more time to come to terms with the size of them. Thanks for the comments and encouragement!]

I've painted--and sold--big paintings in the past, but it's been a few years since I worked on anything larger than 16" x 20". This week, partly thanks to gentle hints from my DH, I realized that I need to tackle a big canvas again. The thought was a little daunting.

I write professionally when I'm not painting. So, I'm accustomed to 'writer's block' and the general sinking feeling of a blank page.

That's nothing compared with the panic that I felt yesterday when I brought three large canvases home from the art supply store.

I feel silly about this. I mean, the largest one is 30" x 40"... hardly Mount Rushmore. But, I still woke up in a cold sweat around three this morning, wondering what I was thinking when I decided to take this leap.

'You know... that a blank wall is an appalling thing to look at. The
wall of a museum – a canvas – a piece of film – or a guy sitting in
front of a typewriter. Then, you start out to do something – that vague
thing called creation. The beginning strikes awe within you.' --Edward Steichen

It may be familiar territory, but a large-ish canvas is still a whole lot of white when I look at it. I'll remedy that this morning by underpainting with cadmium red. Of course, that will make it an even more obvious 'elephant in the room' as it glares vivid red at me. But, I also know that underpainting is the first step.  It gets me moving.

'Boldness has genius, power and magic. Engage, and the mind grows heated. Begin, and the work will be completed.' --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

This morning, my art is still a very halting dialogue in my head. Writing this is part of the process; it's sort of my temper tantrum before I step into the studio and just paint. I know that it has to be done. I'm just in that mode that we all face, saying to myself, 'I am such a fraud', while surrounded by art that I love... my own art and art by friends and family.

I know that I can create good, worthy art because--now and then--I've done so in the past. Nevertheless, there's still that little voice of self-doubt that echoes, 'Yes, but can you do it this time?'

'I don't go into the studio with the idea of "saying" something. What I
do is face the blank canvas and put a few arbitrary marks on it that
start me on some sort of dialogue.' --Richard Diebenkorn

By tonight, this won't seem so daunting. I know that. As the sun is peering through my windows, I'm already feeling more determined to start... if not all three canvases, at least one of them.

That said, I'm caught between visions of grand works of art that I want to create, and the chilling conviction that I'm not that good.

There is nothing else to do now but to start the work. Pick up the brush and start painting. Truly, the only way to complete a work of art is to follow Lewis Carroll's advice, 'Begin at the beginning... and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'

At a nearby park this morning, I was working on a plein air oil sketch as the sun peered through fog and clouds. The landscape was changing by the second, and it's a tricky balance to capture the scene, intact.

I scrubbed in the basic colors to cover the canvas, first. Then, I worked on the sky to get the tone right, followed by a suggestion of the colors.

After that, I filled in the foreground colors as the sun highlighted them.

Finally, I worked on the background where ground fog obscured most of the colors, but some contrast was emerging.

This sketch isn't perfect, but it gives a sense of the subdued landscape as a cold front moves in.

This morning, I learned a lot about brushstrokes. (I plan to re-read Emile Gruppe's book on the subject.) I also realized how much I rely on dramatic contrast in most of my work. These softer, muted colors were a challenge.

All in all, I'm pleased with this sketch. It's 9" x 12" on canvas board, and I painted it in about an hour. I'll be tweaking one cloud area, and I may also work on the lighting effects in the ground fog. But, these changes will take less than two or three minutes; they're minor.

I write for two online journals (blogs) at my website, Eileen Morey, fine artist. 

At one, I post art that I create in a single day, Eileen's Daily Art;  the other is my journal about being an artist, Eileen's Art Journal. 

I also write about art at MySpace, where my username is Eileen Morey, and my MySpace URL extension is /landscapepaintings/.