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"This is one of the eternal debates among artists.
Is it better to shape form with value by gradually (or abruptly, when needed) lightening or darkening an area to indicate three-dimensionality?
Or is it better to use the fact that some colours appear to come towards you and others to recede from you?

"But what if the question in the headline is a false dichotomy, this Tonal vs. Colour? "

These are questions I pose in an article which you can read in pdf form by clicking What is most important in a portrait, colour or tonal value?

In it you'll learn about The Colour Stool, a vital piece of artist "furniture" which shows a way to easily understand the three properties of colour.

You will see the difference and similarities of painting portraits of children in a tonal way, and then applying colour on top of the paintings. Click on the names to see the finished paintings of Noah and Lukas.

You get to see closeup details, comparing the methods.

And you will learn why I think one of the methods ages children.

You'll learn the importance of creating form using warmer and cooler colours.

And it is all free!  The intention is to start a discussion, but it wasn't convenient to put a longer text in the blog format, so I made a pdf of it.

Click on What is most important in a portrait, colour or tonal value? to read the free pdf.

And then let's discuss it here in the blog.

Do you think a pastel painter needs thousands of pastel sticks to be able to paint? Not entirely so.

Recently I took up a challenge to paint with 12 colours plus black and white, and someone commented that it looked very much like my usual painting style, so where was the challenge?

Hm, yes, that was after all basically true.

The Challenger had painted with only three colours (+ black and white), so I took him up on that.

Don't tell him, but I did choose to design the scene so it would fit the very limited number of colours...

As I worked on a fairly darkish paper, I knew I would get better results with toning the light areas with white before starting. And then I chose black to darken the dark areas. The black and white underpainting makes a huge difference. It (the finished sketch) would have been more colourful if I had used the colours for the underpainting. But I prefer to have whites and blacks under the colours.

The turning fish is my chosen area of interest. But it doesn't stand (swim!) as an isolated blob in the midst of darkness. I have hinted at things growing, and things being reflected in the surface, so there is a visual path, a movement, combining the fish and the other light elements in the painting.

Now, why do people maintain that a pastel painter really needs thousands of sticks?

I have two theories about that: a) people think it is easier to search for just the right stick of just the right nuance, and b) if one starts painting with pastels, one has not learned to mix colour in a wet medium.

My personal answer to a) is that it can be quicker to modify the colour you have with another colour, and it is easier to carry a more limited palette. To b) I suggest some serious work mixing colours and learning how they behave. I started painting in oils, and did extensive studies of colour mixing. There are no quick fixes, knowledge must be earned by hard work.

So three colours work for pastel painters too. Admittedly, it isn't easy, but that palette of 14 sticks in the previous blog post are quite enough. OK, I'd like to expand on that, a little bit, for convenience's sake. But still, some 30 sticks are nowhere near the two thousand some recommend.

Good news! Sketches and studies -- and experiments -- have a new section on my website, and they are half the price of finished paintings!

Recently, I happened to fall and break the wrist of my right hand, the hand I use. These kinds of injuries heal rather slowly, so I really got bored with just sitting and waiting. At the same time, there was (is) an ongoing challenge in the forum of the Pastel Guild of Europe -- how to paint green landscapes. Several of us live in Northern Europe (north of the Alps), and our landscapes are as green as Ireland's. It is nice to be outdoors in summer, but for some reason green paintings do not work all that well. It seems like we see them as too green, even if they're very faithful copies of the green stuff outside.

So together we are working on a solution on How To Paint Green.

One solution is to make an underpainting in other colours, which then will peek through the greens on top of them. Another solution is to temper the greens with other colours on top of them. (The result will be different.)

I chose to paint what was an all-green scene using no green pigment whatsoever. There is an impression of green here and there, and that is an optical mix of blue and yellow. This is going back to the basics, using methods the impressionists and the pointillists experimented with.

And, I painted it with my left hand, which lead to a loser handling of strokes. There was no way I could fuss and give in to my perfectionist tendencies. I learned (again) that a loose handling is quite enough and convincing. The right hand has too much dexterity and control. I really recommend painting a whole painting using only the 'wrong' hand, it opens up one's mind. Yes, it does feel awkward. Yes, there is a huge temptation to switch hands. If you persist, you will discover new things, learn new things -- get out of the groove. A landscape is rather perfect for the experiment, as nobody cares if a tree isn't portrait like.

If I may say so myself, I really like the result. It is amazing how more convincing the image is when there is no green in it. One can probably put in a bit green at the edges between light and shadow, in order to enhance the illusion of green, and I'll try that next time.

Compare with this which I painted outdoors, on location:

I really tried to match the greens (on top of an underpainting where there was no green). The sunlight was rather orange, as it was painted after dinner, and finished at about 8:30 pm (20:30). There were all kinds of greens, from yellow-green over blue-green, to violet-green. It is a faithful rendering of what my eyes really saw, and in that respect it was a success.

Green is one of my favourite colours, but even I feel that this sketch gives an impression of being slightly too green as it hangs on my wall. The painting of Birches somehow looks more 'natural', although it in reality is more 'contrived', more 'forced' by the avoidance of green pigment.

In a way, one can claim that painting is the ability to tell the truth via a 'lie'. If no greens, or very little of them, tells the story of a place in nature in a better way than green pigments do, then the artist will do well by 'fibbing' a bit, using the knowledge and skill they have.

And when it comes to preferences, we can be absolutely convinced of the fact that some people will prefer the no-green painting, and others will love the all-green painting. We are all different, like different things, and that is so very right.

There is something so fascinating about Venetian masks. There are many ways they can be decorated. One of the more spectacular ones are those made with feathers around the half mask, and in this case the half mask sits on a whole mask. Sometimes these feathers are just little chiq tufts on one side, and sometimes they look like a full hair from the glittering 1980s, like the 'do' in Solitaire.

In my previous Venetian Masks and Games paintings, the Backgammon and the Chess, there is interaction between figures playing, and they tell a story of that interaction. And they interact with the viewer, too. With Solitaire, I have done something slightly different. The obvious thing is that the game of cards is a solitaire, and also that the mask is solitary.

What story does the painting tell you? Write a comment and share it. As with the other masks and games paintings, I will collect them. Mostly, I will delight in getting to know what you see in the painting, as it may not be the same story as I had in mind.

Click the link to see a larger version of the pastel painting Solitaire -- Venetian Mask.

First, I want to remind you that there are still a few spaces in my upcoming workshop, August 11 and 12, in Stockholm, Sweden. It is about how to paint outdoors, in and around our beautiful city. Take a look at the section Workshop for more info (också på svenska).

I’m back from a good long vacation, and I have painted outdoors as much as the fickle weather this summer has allowed me to. I can't carry heavy things, so I've worked out a way to bring as little as possible with me when I go out to paint. Maybe you will be inspired to make plein air-life lighter.

Painting outdoors, in the open air (en plein air), can be a wonderful experience – if you come prepared. It is important to take care of one’s own wellbeing: Hat/cap with a brim, and plenty of water, which you can use to rinse your hands after finishing painting, to avoid that colourful steering wheel.  If you apply sunscreen and insect repellant before you set out you don’t have to carry them. Wear comfortable clothes and shoes. And remember to bring the cell phone / mobile phone; it is your life-line to civilization.

Regarding art supplies, it is not necessary to take the whole studio with you. I find it important to choose the palette carefully, as pastel sticks are heavy. It is a good idea to bring small bits of sticks, about a third or a quarter of a stick, also used bits. That is entirely sufficient for painting on location. You definitely do not need to drag around 10 pounds (about 5 kilo) of full length sticks. The wooden travelling boxes for pastel sticks tend to weigh a lot by themselves, so consider using the cardboard boxes the pastels came in, and secure the lid with rubber bands around the box.

Make the stuff you actually bring serve multiple purposes. A lightweight camera tripod converted to an easel also serves as – a camera tripod. Use an easel with a shelf, and you don’t need to bring a foldable table. One of those microfiber cloths for dusting and cleaning is perfect for wiping pastel dust off your fingers, your pastels, and (depending on type of paper) wiping off offending areas from the painting, and serves for blending too.

A sketching pad takes care of several functions:  It is a support for the painting (no extra board needed), it provides safe transport, stocks your papers and paintings ­­– you can even use it for note-taking and sketching. A folded piece of paper from the pad is great as a dust catcher while you paint, and can be neatly tucked away in the pad when you are finished. A thin pad (few sheets) is sufficient and more lightweight. Just check that the cardboard at the back is sturdy and does not bend.

The picture (upper picture) shows a study on Fisher 400 paper, size A4 (8,5x12”). The pastel paper is clamped to the pad, and more pastel papers are stored between the sheets of the pad.

When the painting is finished, it can be placed between sheets of the pad, and the clamps keep the whole package very secure (lower picture.) The “legs” of the clamps can be folded so there is nothing protruding. The important thing is to see to it that the pastel paintings cannot move and slide within the package.

Extra tip: If you travel by airplane, you can put the pad in a plastic bag and tape the opening shut, put it in your checked suitcase, and the paintings will be safe from condensation in the unheated cargo space.

Enjoy a lightweight plein air session!

In coming posts, I will talk about handling shifting clouds, and what to expect to accomplish while out there.

After a very busy time with classes, exhibition, and commissions, I could try out my investment in a small set of the fabled Henri Roche pastel, made by La Maison du Pastel in Paris, France. Handmade with methods that are centuries old, these are the most luxurious pastels that exist. It is the pastel brand used by Degas, Monet, Rosabla Carriera, and other famous old masters.

After carefully selecting 36 pastels in mainly 3 values (3, 5, 7), plus a couple of darks and some near whites, I eagerly waited for the postman to bring it. Hovering by the window, waiting for him, I rushed out and grabbed it from his hands before he could drop it in the box.

When opening the parcel, I found several neat cardboard boxes with the cool logo of Henri Roché...

... and inside them were glorious colours!

The "candy boxes" sat for a while, being just pretty, while I was working with business related things. Finally I found some free time to paint "Old Town Glow (Stockholm)". In order to have a greater variation of strokes, I  broke off (gasp!) about a third from the long sticks. (Below: some sticks photograph as if the colours were similar. In reality, they are different, except the lemon yellow which is a duplicate.)

  During my earlier experiments with a sample set, I had made a discovery: the Henri Roché pastels respond very well to a high quality fixative, which allows for multiple layering on what I call plain pastel paper. This pastel, the Henri Roché, is what allowd Degas to create his fantastic shimmering paintings. (See my article for The Pastel Scribbler on discovering Dega's "secret" method, as I reviewed the Roché pastel.)

Here is a closeup showing the rough texture of a Degas painting (left), and a detail from my own (right), with a similar texture:

This typical texture can only be had when fixating between layers. I'm talking about a light fixation, not a drenching of the pastel. If a firmer layer is needed, do spray fixative in a light application, let it dry completely, repeat as many times as needed. I find that about two light applications is usually sufficient.

What this technique does is that it allows you to layer just about any colour on top of any other, without mixing them. Degas has let an olivy green and a rosy pink layer into each other, and while the optical mixing does show a certain greyness, both colours are vibrant as they mingle in the eye. Blending these would have resulted in a much duller grey.

Can you do that with other brands of pastels? Not as well, in my opinion. In other brands, the pastel dust tends to melt and darken much more, and fuse. The Roché pastel marks may darken a hair depending on if there is a darker colour underneath, but the marks keep their individuality and vibrancy.

I still explore the Henri Roché pastels, as they behave differently from other pastels. I will try them on other papers, too, as for example Ingres. In this painting, I applied light scumbling strokes, while the strokes in the sketches in the article were more impressionistic.

Larger version of Old Town Glow (Stockholm) is found here.

You fall in love with a beautiful painting at an exhibition, or in the artist’s studio – you simply must have it! You take it home, you consider carefully where to hang it, and hammer the nail into the wall. When you spend time in that room, you look at the painting with pleasure, feeling the joy of being in love with this gorgeous find.

After some time has passed, the joy and thrill tapers out. You can sit in the room without even glancing at the painting that used to be so enchanting. Eventually, you don’t even notice the painting anymore, as it becomes part of the furniture.

You have fallen out of love.

Or, have you, really? What if there is something else going on?

The brain is a funny old thing. While it is constantly active, it edits out what is always there. It is like it says: “Yes, all the furniture in the room is still there, and I don’t even have to register how they look, I have this nice simplified memory image stored, I’ll just save energy by using that instead of looking.”  You literally do not see the painting anymore.

The brain immediately notices changes, though. “Who put the garden tools on the dining table, dragging in all that dirt!?”

What if you outsmarted your brain (!) and deliberately caused that change which will make it sit up and take notice? What if you changed paintings, or changed which wall or room they hang out in? Yes, you are right – you would suddenly start to see the artworks again, rediscover how beautiful they are, and feel the joy anew! This effect lasts up to three months, and you can rekindle it by rotating your paintings, or have some stored away and change the display regularly.

And be gloriously in love again.

Edward Munch's pastel version of The Scream has just been auctioned at Sotheby's for the tidy sum of  $120 million. OK, it is fairly large, 3 2" x 23.25" (81  x 59 cm), but as one critic put it "it is only a bit of pastel on a board".

Only?

Now, what then is the version made in oil and tempera? It is only a bit of pigment diluted with oil and eggs onna board. After all.

We all know why a pastel painting sells for that ridiculous sum -- it is the name, the brand, of Munch, and it is art as investment. (Or lottery, as the gamble is that it will sell for even more next time. It may, and then it may not.)

This sale is absolutely delightful for us pastel painters!  12 000 000 green bits of paper's worth of taking the medium seriously. The most expensive artwork sold. Wow!

No, dear critic, it is not "only" pastel. The pastels look like crayons, but are in reality almost pure pigment. I like to call them Pigment Ingots. Check the price of a high quality handmade stick of pastel, and you'll see why.

These pigments applied to materials that will withstand the ravages of time will stay fresh and bright, while oilpaint yellows and cracks. Pastels are a painting medium, as well as a drawing medium. (But so is any other medium.)  The Munch isn't sold as a 'drawing'.

There are so many accomplished pastel artists all over the world. They know the worth of the medium, and now the rest of the world knows it too.

If you are looking for investing in a beautiful work of art which will look as fresh in 500 years as it does the day the artist takes it off the ease, then get pastel paintings. You are welcome to browse my pastel paintings, which can be yours.

And who knows, one day you'll sell the one you get for... well... let's be modest now -- say about $ 150 million!

Suddenly, that is a possibility, thanks to Munch!

This was great fun to paint, and it is part of a series of game paintings I'm involved in. I've completed Chess, and now Backgammon. I briefly considered checkers, but no, the checkerboard in perspective... well, I had had enough of it for a good while. Now I know that a backgammon board is much more difficult, with the long tongue pattern in perspective... Live, try things out, and learn, take on challenges, right! It keeps life interesting.

The Venetian masks are based on typical template masks, with my own decoration on them. In this painting, I really focus on creating shimmering glowing colour. Pastels are a very versatile medium, which allows the artist to layer even complementary colours without creating the proverbial "mud". Not that there exists such a thing, "mud" are lovely neutral colours, which do a great job in the right place in the right painting.

This is not such a painting.

This is a colour feast, with exuberant singing high-chroma pigments. However, no major mass in the paintings is un-mixed colour. Every colours is created by layering strokes, laying them down overlapping and adjacent, weaving the pigments as if they were photons of light. (By the way, is light a particle waiving, or a wave being particular?) In fact, there are greys in the painting, particularly (!) in the "skin tone" of the mask in profile, but they are optical greys, created by the prismatic colours I always use.

Two close-up details show the weaving of pigment. The camera can't capture how smoothly the colours transition into each other (as a colletor and friend said, "your paintings are beautiful online, but a thousand times more beautiful in real life"). But this inability in the camera reveals the strokes, and that is very usable when I want to show that aspect.

The grey, white-in-shadow, of the profile mask is made out of many colours, including warm peaches.

Above is a close-up detail of the corner of the fan. The warm reds are tempered by strokes of olive green, and so is the intense cobalt blues of the hat, which also got some violets. There is a little bit of background showing at bottom left corner, and the yellows are tempered by pinks and violets.

As with Chess, there is a story in the painting, a hidden-in-plain-sight one. With Chess, I asked the readers to share their interpretations in the blog post "Do we communicate, you and I?", and I'd love for you to do it here too!

Both paintings are going to be exhibited soon, on the 18th of May, and I will print ut the stories for the audience to read.

I'll reveal one thing about the Backgammon: The actual game on the board. It sure looks like red (the coquettishly smiling blue lady) has no reason to look so happy this close to the end of the game. While I reasearched backgammon rules (I did learn it a few decades ago, but have not played much), I came across a text by Ed Collins called A Sweet (and Miraculous) Backgammon Win (actually, they are two such wins). In this very situation I have painted, he threw a double one, and eventually managed to win the whole game, against the odds. I found this so charming I used that point in the game for my pastel painting.

Click on the link to see a larger version of Backgammon.