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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.

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.

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.

During the past month, I’ve been teaching a class on painting light and colour in pastels. Obviously, that has given me less time to paint, and to keep up with this blog. Why would one teach – for free – and not create one’s own art?

For me personally, there are three main reasons:

First, it is a Challenge, and I thrive on challenges. It wakes me up from complacent couch-potato lethargy.  It is also great fun, plain and simple. I enjoy interacting with the students, and it is a nice feeling to be “the guru” for a short while.

Some of the challenges are:

To plan lessons , do research, and find a good enough structure to work within. I’ll only mention this, as there could be pages written on that subject alone.

To really remember how it was to be a rookie, in order to not throw jargon around and take understanding for granted.

To find good visual examples that illustrate the points. Luckily, I’ve had the habit for a long time to take photos of the development of each painting I make. I did it for me, so I could chart failures and progress, but those photos sure came in handy when teaching, as they are all mine, and no copyright issues involved.

To find the right balance between praise and encouragement on one hand, and to give helpful hints respectfully on the other hand. Many of us (definitely including myself) do not thrive on critique alone. It is very important to stay out of criticism altogether, as that is a form of putting down people. Relevant critique, and lots of praise and encouragement will make students to want to learn and grow. I think the ratio needed might be 1 critique per 10 hoorays, just to give a feeling of neutrality, and more than 10 praises to be perceived as positive.

To teach accomplished artists and beginners in the same class. Basics have to be covered, but there also need to be some real challenges for those who have painted for 30 years. One way to solve it is to mark some tasks as “advanced”, or “very advanced”. Rookies are told to skip those.

The second reason has to do with developing people, and developing people-skills:

To learn how to respect people's needs: They will try things out, and not listen to my  golden words of immense wisdom. They will try things I tried when I was new at it – those things I know, all too well,  won’t work. I  may tell them it won’t work, and they’ll say ‘yes’ and go ahead and do it anyway. And I remember that only by doing will they really know. After all, they are just like I was, and to be honest, am.

To learn from my students: As they try things out, they will successfully pull off something I thought would never work. So I say to myself: “Be humble, admit you were wrong, and ask them how they did it. Your credibility as an honest person who is to be trusted will be firmly established by your willingness to learn.”

I know it is important to model how to learn.

And the third reason is to give on a gift:

As I was given the gift by my teacher to really see the glory and beauty in light and colour, I want to give that onwards. In one way, I do it in and with every painting that finds a new home. But when a struggling student suddenly sees, and the pure delight of discovery and understanding is lit in their souls, shining out through their eyes – that is when I get my biggest reward. I know that for the rest of their lives, they’ll see beauty everywhere around us, even in the most mundane settings. To be instrumental in sparkling true joy is a great gift given to a teacher. Hoarding the ‘secret’ would’ve left me poor indeed, but now I’m vastly enriched, and I could only get this richness by giving the gift of seeing colour and light onward, sharing it with others. Shared joy is multiplied joy!