Linda teaches art

How to Develop Your First Portfolio

What's a portfolio for?

A portfolio is a collection of your best art. It shows off your skills, strengths, interests, work ethic and creative process. Your portfolio is also a conversation piece. It gives you and your interviewers something relevant to talk about while all of you try to figure out if you'll fit in, contribute to and benefit from the opportunity on offer.

A. The best way to develop your first portfolio

1. Reach under your bed.
2. Drag out the big old folder of artwork you've been keeping since grade seven.
3. Start from the top with the most recent art.
4. Pick your best twelve to fifteen pieces.
5. Go to the living room and do The Dance of Smugness.

Not only are you finished preparing your portfolio, but you have an answer for everyone who ever said "Why do you still have that mountain of stuff under there?"

B. The worst way to develop your first portfolio

1. Discover your inner artist a week before the deadline for submissions.
2. Congratulate yourself on avoiding the influence of teachers, galleries, or art education of any kind.
3. Buy the best of everything (pens, paper, portfolio case) to make your art look better.
   "Bad art on great paper is better than great art on bad paper, right?" "Wrong. A conservator can fix bad paper."
4. Pull an all-nighter to throw together some drawings and paintings.
5. Settle for your first draft.
6. Ignore instructions.
   "The world makes exceptions for exceptional talent, right?" "Sure. Usually posthumously."

C. A realistic way to develop your first portfolio

1. Start early. You want time to make lots of art, spot the good stuff, and make more.
2. Ask someone knowledgeable to look over all the art with you.
• How many pieces do you already have that are really ready for prime time?
• What did the portfolio submission guidelines*** ask for?
• Where are the gaps?
3. Set a timetable to fill those gaps. For example, if you don't have any good tonal drawings, declare this National Shading Month and make some. If your perspective work is a little dodgy, practise until you get something you're proud of.
4. Put your art in an order that tells a strong story.
   
   • Finish with your best piece of art.
   • Start with your second-best piece of art.

*** Portfolio submission guidelines may, for example, set a maximum number of pieces of work to include, or ask you to bring photographs of your sculpture rather than the original. They might want to see a focused portfolio dedicated to a particular skill (e.g. figure drawing) or medium (e.g. photography), or they might ask you to show breadth with a lot of different types of art. They may have specific assignments they want to see (e.g. "Bring a drawing of the cross-section of a cabbage") or types of art that they don't want to see (e.g. "No Disney characters").

If they ask to see a sketchbook, the interviewers are hoping to leaf through authentic examples of your creative process over a recent period of time. They want to talk with you about how you approach projects and try out ideas. They are not expecting to see a bound volume of perfect finished little school assignments, so don't feel obliged to glue in good copies and tear out the working drawings. TIP: Bookmark three or four great pages that showcase your creativity and skills; now you're prepared to flip the sketchbook open and talk without dread or delay.

D. Surviving a portfolio interview

Before the interview:

1. Practise shaking hands with someone who knows how.
2. Practise introducing yourself.
3. Practise opening your portfolio case and leafing through the artwork. You may be seated across a table from the interviewer, so prepare to talk about your work while seeing it upside down.
4. Find out about the opportunity. Visit the web page. Read the brochure. Ask if anyone you know can tell you more.
5. Prepare three or four questions of your own for the interviewers. What do you need to know to decide whether you want this opportunity?
6. Bring a notebook. Better still, take notes in a sketchbook, if your sketchbook is ready to be shown off. (See above, "If they ask to see a sketchbook".)

During the interview:

1. Greet the interviewer.
2. Introduce yourself.
3. Be yourself.
4. Don't make self-deprecating comments about your art, don't apologize for the quality of your photographs, and don't explain the symbolism in your art unless somebody insists.
5. Be prepared to talk about some artists you find interesting, by name.
6. If anyone is generous enough to give you advice, say thank you and take notes. Be quick--you don't want to delay the interview--but show them that you hear and respect their advice by writing it down.

At the end of the interview:

1. Say thank you and be prepared to shake hands again.
2. Make notes to yourself about the interview.
• Who did you meet?
• What were the answers to your questions?
• Is there anything you need to do as a follow-up?
• When can you expect to hear results?
3. Critique your own performance. This won't be the last portfolio interview you do, so make some notes about how you could improve.

In Conclusion

Best of luck!

You might get turned down. Remember that a portfolio interview isn't a test to find out if you're "good enough" to be an artist. It's to find out if these interviewers think you'll get something out of the opportunity, contribute something to it, and be interesting to spend the time with. If you get turned down after a portfolio interview, it doesn't mean you're a bad artist, or a bad person. It means you weren't the best fit.

Take heart. Take notes. Try again.

If they say no, keep making art anyway. There will be another opportunity. If they say yes, keep making art anyway. There will be another opportunity.

How to price your art

Letter to an emerging artist on how to price her artwork

Congratulations on having someone interested in buying your work. The first thing you want to do is get good photographs of the piece. Then you'll still have the work in your portfolio, even if it's in someone else's living room.

Pricing is difficult, and I cannot give you an exact figure. Art isn't something you price according to the cost of materials (although you can usually set a higher price on anything that incorporates unusually expensive materials) or by the hour (although you can usually set a higher price on anything that's obviously labour-intensive). The price of art is market-driven, and that's about expectations. People expect drawings and prints to cost less than paintings. People expect small paintings to cost less than big ones. People expect student art to cost less than pro stuff. People expect art by unknowns and outsiders to cost less than work by Famous Artists. People expect art-in-the-park to cost less than gallery work. People expect to unframed work to cost less than framed work.

If your buyers are new to art-shopping, they may have some unreasonable expectations, too. A surprising number of people expect original art to be priced similarly to mass-produced posters, but you can't afford to be in a price war with IKEA!

Where did the buyers see your work? If it was in the company of other work that was clearly priced, you will be able to set your own price in that context. Is it more important to you to make a sale or to make money? If you'd like to make that first sale, set the price low. If this is a valuable piece to you, set the price high but be prepared to lose the sale; another buyer will come along. Friends and family get a deal for supporting your career, but it's okay for you to ask them to keep the discounted prices confidential.

The most important advice I can give you on pricing your art is to imagine how you will feel after the sale. Set the price high enough that you will think, "I'm proud that my work earned enough money to buy that bag of art supplies," rather than "I still resent those people for having my great painting for so little money." Set the price such that, if someone actually antes up the money, you won't feel cheated.

How to find art classes

Notes on how to find art classes

I'm always happy to help someone who wants to learn to draw. I don't know who's teaching in your city these days, but I'll tell you exactly how I'd find out. I'd visit the art gallery, the main library, and the art supply stores. Ask them who's running classes in the city, and check out their bulletin boards. Call your municipal recreation department. What's on at the local community centres? Check with nearby colleges and universities. Sometimes they offer community courses not-for-credit, and they are always a nexus of artists. In a small town, I might start my quest at the regional high school.

A small community, or one that's been through some tough times, might not have a well-established suite of teaching artists. But somewhere in town there are artists. Track them down. Ask them if they've considered teaching a class. You're probably not the only person in town who would like to learn to draw!

Then offer to pay at least as much as the local piano teacher makes. Everybody has a local piano teacher.

How to make a canvas stretcher

Canvas stretcher: Make it or Buy it?

My art school taught me how to build my own stretchers by hand from standard lumber-yard materials. If yours didn't, I think you got ripped off. I'm not saying that making stretchers is easy, and I understand that painters aren't necessarily carpenters. But if you're even moderately handy, you can build a much better stretcher than any store-bought readymade. You can build stretchers cheaper and stronger, and you can build them to exactly the dimensions you want.

What is a canvas stretcher?

A canvas stretcher is a wooden frame inside a painting on canvas. Like an embroidery hoop, it holds the canvas taut. The canvas is stretched across and around a stretcher, and tacked or stapled to the back. Once a painting has been framed, you can't see the stretcher, but it's a permanent part of the artwork. The painted canvas is only removed from the stretcher for short-term storage, travel, or repair.

If you're an art lover, that's background information. If you're a painter, that's a fundamental piece of equipment.

You can buy stretched canvas

Every art supply store stocks ready-made stretched canvases. They're commercially manufactured and assembled with primed canvas.

Cheaper stretched canvases are made with lighter wood, thinner members, and cheaper canvas. Cheaper stretched canvases have the canvas stapled on the sides (rather than on the back) to use less canvas.

Expensive stretched canvases should be stronger. You'll pay more for thicker stretchers, cross-bars, and/or corner braces. You'll pay more for stretchers milled to create an especially deep drop from the outside edge, and consider yourself lucky to find them. You'll pay more for hardwood stretchers, and it's worth it for big paintings. You'll pay more for linen (rather than cotton) canvas.

Prices and availability vary hugely, but I can give you some ballpark figures. At the time of this writing (February 2006), a 16-inch by 20-inch stretched canvas, cotton on a regular 7/8 inch deep stretcher, primed with acrylic gesso, retails for $5 to $12 CDN. A 16-inch by 20-inch stretched stretched canvas, cotton on a gallery-depth 1 and 3/4 inch deep basswood stretcher, primed with acrylic gesso, retails for $12 to $25 CDN. A 16-inch by 20-inch stretched canvas in linen starts from $22 CDN. [For a few points of comparison, also at the time of this writing, my toothpaste cost $4 CDN today, and 2 litres of Diet Dr. Pepper cost $1 CDN.]

You can assemble your own stretchers

You can buy commercially milled stretcher bars in various lengths and assemble them in your studio with simple hand tools. You're ready to start stretching your canvas in a matter of minutes. The stretcher bars are essentially the same as those used to produce the readymades. The advantages of assembling your own are:

• You can save money. Maybe. At the time of this writing (February 2006), 16-inch stretcher bars cost from $1.25 CDN to $4 CDN apiece. Shop around, and remember that your time is valuable, too.
• You can build a wider range of sizes. Stretchers come in lots of lengths, in even numbers of inches (6", 8", 10", etc.). I've never seen a 36" X 14" readymade canvas, but you could assemble one from off-the-shelf parts.
• You can use your favourite canvas instead of the standard stuff. That means you can splurge on Belgian linen when you're feeling flush, and recycle an old tarpaulin when you're broke.
• You'll always get a tighter canvas by stretching unprimed canvas, then gessoing it on the stretcher. Can't do that with readymade! Stretcher keys (little triangular bits you jam into the dovetailed corners) are remedial add-ons used to compensate for the floppy sloppy results of machine-stretching pre-primed canvas.

You can build your own stretchers

Why are handmade stretchers better than the ones you assemble yourself from off-the-rack stretcher bars? I have never seen a stretcher bar with a deep enough drop-off from the outside edge. A shallow drop means the important part of your canvas, the part with the painting on it, is exposed to the raw wood. That might be a conservation issue sometime down the road. The bigger problem is one you'll notice in the studio. When you paint, the canvas will bounce against that stretcher, leaving a telltale line in your painting.

If you get good at building canvas stretchers, you can earn money on the side building high-quality custom pieces for other artists in your community. Stick your card on the bulletin boards in your local art supply stores. Somebody always needs good stretchers. You did!

How to build a canvas stretcher

Some things can't be taught in words. If you don't know what a mitre joint is, you're not ready to build your own canvas stretcher. If there's anything on the tools-and-materials list that you don't recognize, by name or on sight, you're not ready to build your own canvas stretcher. Show these instructions to a friendly woodworker, and trade paintings for carpentry lessons.

Tools and Materials

• 8-foot length(s) of 3/4" quarter-round AKA round-over molding
• 8-foot length(s) of clear pine one-by-two
• 1" finishing nails
• carpenter's glue
• hammer
• mitre clamp
• hand saw and mitre box [the hard way], or
• mitre saw [the easy way], or
• compound mitre saw [the easy, versatile way]

The goal is to build a rectangular wooden frame strong enough in all directions to withstand the stress of the stretched canvas. That frame must have a raised outside edge so that the canvas you paint doesn't rest on any wood, or press against any wood when you apply a brushstroke.

You're going to create your own eight-foot lengths of stretcher-bar-stuff, then cut them down to the pieces you need for your project. Save the excess for a future stretcher.

1. Nail and glue the quarter-round onto the wide face of the one-by-two, aligning a flat face of the quarter-round with an outside edge of the one-by-two.
   HINT: Click on the diagram to study a large version carefully. This is one of the things people mess up. You want the flat edge of the quarter-round on the outside. Really.
   HINT: Space your nails evenly about every six inches, and don't hide them. You will be cutting through this stretcher-bar-stuff later and you don't want to hit a nail. Nails destroy saw blades.
2. Plan your cuts.
   HINT: How big do you want your picture to be? For a picture 16" by 20", you need two stretcher bars 16" long and two stretcher bars 20" long. Measure along the edge where the quarter-round is mounted.
3. Mark and cut stretcher bars with mitred ends from the eight-foot length(s) of stretcher-bar-stuff.
   A mitred stretcher bar is shaped like a trapezoid. The longest side is the outside edge of your finished stretcher, and that should be the side with the quarter-round mounted on it. If you're a painter doing this for art and experience, and you've never seen a wood shop before, memorize this piece of folk wisdom: Measure twice, cut once.
4. Assemble the stretcher one corner at a time. Glue the corner, then secure it in the mitre clamp perfectly flat, perfectly aligned. Nail through the corner twice from each side.
   If you're a woodworker doing this for love or money, and you've never seen a canvas stretcher before, pay special attention to this next bit...
   HINT: The stretcher bars are assembled flat (not tall) and the quarter-round goes around the outside edge.
   ADVANCED PLAY: If your stretcher's bigger than 36 inches a side, you'll also want cross-braces. Let's leave that as an exercise for the reader, shall we? This is when I'd reach for a biscuit joiner.

Relevant Links: How to stretch canvas

Stretching a canvas is like putting a flat sheet onto a bed, with crisp hospital corners... and then stapling it in place. (Hey, Doloros, that would have made boot camp easier!) There are lots of places on the web that show you how to stretch a canvas. However, the web changes every day. If one of these links should fade, you could use my description to do your own keyword search for similar relevant sites.

• Art studio chalkboard, on how to stretch a canvas
• artsparx.com, on how to stretch a canvas
• about.com, on how to stretch a canvas

Make it or Buy it?

If you've got a compound mitre saw and mitre clamps and you know how to use them, making canvas stretchers is easy, and half the price. However, at the time of this writing (February 2006) a compound mitre saw costs $300 CDN to $700 CDN. How many canvas stretchers do you expect to build?

If I needed a standard canvas in a hurry, I'd buy it readymade, stretched and gessoed. If I wasn't handy, I'd buy readymade. If I was tragically separated from my tools and my studio, I'd buy readymade. If I was doing a student project or a commercial assignment (where museum quality isn't usually necessary), and I had more money than time, I'd buy readymade. But if I wanted a good deep canvas stretcher, I'd make one. If I wanted unusual or large dimensions, I'd make one. If I wanted to paint on anything other than standard ten-pound cotton duck, I'd make one.

If I was broke and had more time than money, I'd make canvas stretchers, using hand tools if that's all I had. I'd end up with better stretchers and I'd spend my savings on good paint and a shot of single-malt whiskey.

Canvas stretcher: Make it!

How to paint fiddly details

Painting is a skill you can practise

I teach painting. I have been asked how to paint dogs, how to paint trees, how to paint eyes and noses and hair. I have been asked how to paint water droplets, like it's some trade secret the guild insiders have been keeping from the uninitiated.

Okay, here's the trade secret: We look very closely at our subject, and we paint what we see.

If you didn't think much of that trade secret, you're probably going to hate this one: We practice. We practice both parts, the looking and the painting. Today, let's talk about the painting part.

First, an analogy. Learning to cook is about learning not just recipes but techniques. I learned a great recipe for mushroom risotto from Barbara Kafka's Microwave Gourmet. What's more important, in the long run, is that I learned a technique for preparing risottos in the microwave. I can open the fridge and prepare a risotto with whatever ingredients I have on hand.

A recipe is something you know. A technique is something you do.

An artist who paints a lot of water droplets undoubtedly develops insights and shortcuts. She'll notice where the highlights typically fall, how the droplet works as a lens to distort the surface beneath. She might even tell you what she knows.That's pretty cool of her. She's willing to share her recipe.

I want to share technique, technique you can practice and apply, not just to painting water droplets, but to painting fur and feathers, lettering, lace, and fine meandering lines that don't represent anything at all. There is a technique for painting fiddly detail. I summarize it for my students in five points.

1.You need a tiny brush

Use a small Round brush for fiddly details. A Round has a circular cross-section and the bristles taper to a fine point. I'd recommend you start out with a small Round, maybe a #1 or #0. Brush size is a trade-off between carrying capacity and the size of the point.

There are some specialized brushes, called Script or Liner or Rigger, which are round brushes with longer bristles. They'll hold a bigger load of paint but they're a little harder to control. You might want to start with a conventional Round then apply your new technique to a Liner.

2.You need a creamy consistency of paint

You can't paint fiddly detail with toothpaste. You need to thin your paint to a creamy consistency so that it will flow smoothly off the brush. You're aiming for something soupy, not watery.

HINT: Thin your paint with a fluid medium rather than solvent. Solvent weakens the stickiness of your paint. Medium strengthens it. If you're painting in acrylics, your solvent is water; don't overdo it. If you're painting in oils, your solvent is turpentine, or mineral spirits; don't overdo it.

3. You need to groom the bristles to a point

You can't paint fiddly details if the bristles of the brush are going in seventeen directions at once. After you load your brush with paint, you need to smooth the bristles to a sleek point. Some people pull the tip across the edge of the solvent jar a few times. I use a trick from the old comic book inkers: twirl the bristles to a point by drawing the brush toward you along the palette while spinning the handle.

4. You need a vertical brush stance

Hold the brush upright, not at a slant. The brush is not a pencil. When you're painting fiddly detail, you want the brush tip--just the brush tip--to touch the painting. If you hold the brush the same way you habitually hold a pen or pencil, you're painting with the side of the brush. The side of the brush is a lot bigger than the point! Watch Asian calligraphers. They use a vertical brush.

5. You need to control your brush pressure

The brush is not a ballpoint pen. It responds to pressure. Heavy pressure makes wider brushstrokes. Paint with the bristles, not the metal ferrule. Steady your hand; there are no bonus marks for doing this free-floating. You can rest your little finger on the painting, rest your working hand on your opposite hand, or cobble together a mahl stick or bridge (How to make a mahl stick). Practice painting dots and lines with light, controlled pressure. What's the smallest brushstroke you can reliably produce?

HINT: It's easier to control a line when you're drawing side-to-side than near-and-far. Can you turn your painting to get an optimal working direction?

Make it fun to practise technique

You learn to paint fiddly detail the same way you learned to ride a bike, thread a needle or play Doom. You practise. Become your own coach. Set drills and make it fun to practise technique. Practise writing your name with a brush, or paint measles all over a front page photo of George W. Bush. Doodle snowflakes, dollar signs, and Simpsons cartoons.

Hey, be practical. Don't make the painting any smaller than you can handle. There are people out there painting the Last Supper on a grain of rice. You don't have to. Figure out how small a mark you can paint. Figure out how small a detail you want to record. Make your painting big enough.

Then, if you like, go to Google and search for "How to paint water droplets." Good technique makes it easier to follow a recipe. Welcome to the guild.

 

 

Mahl stick: Make it or Buy it?

Do you (a) buy cake, (b) make it from scratch, or (c) throw a mix into a disposable foil pan with warm water and a flourish? It depends, of course. Do you want it "right," or right now? Every make-it-or-buy-it decision is the result of trade-offs. Can you make it better? Can they deliver it by Thursday? Can you afford it? Can they monogram it? Can you find the ingredients?

Mahl stick: Make it or Buy it?

A visitor to my new art supply store was disappointed that we didn't have any mahl sticks. That was a great learning opportunity for me. It had never occurred to me that anybody has a store-bought mahl stick. Woodworkers make their own push sticks, dressmakers sew their own pincushions and artists make their own mahl sticks, don't they? Well, not always. Sometimes, store-bought is better, and sometimes store-bought is easier, and sometimes, store-bought makes a nice gift. I should have mahl sticks in my store, for all of those "sometimes."

What is a mahl stick?

A mahl stick is a lightweight stick used by artists, scenic designers and sign-painters to support the working hand to avoid touching a vertical working surface. The Oxford English dictionary reports that it's also been called a maulstick, mol stick, mostick, and mallstick.

Any stick will do provided it's easy to grip on one end and has some sort of  bulk on the other to keep it a bit off the surface. Traditionally, the bulky end has a ball or wad of cotton on it, wrapped in soft leather or chamois. The chamois keeps it from skidding, and can be cleaned or replaced when it gets grubby.

How to use a mahl stick

When you're working upright at an easel, you sometimes need to steady your hand. If the surface is delicate, or wet, you can't just plop your hand on the work. That's when you need a mahl stick. You grip one end with your (non-working) hand and press the bulky end on a dry spot somewhere across the other side of the work, or, ideally, beyond the art altogether. That creates a bridge across the picture where you can stabilize your working hand.

Bridges and hand rests

If you need to steady your hand when doing tabletop work, you can use an artist's bridge: a freestanding shelf that straddles the artwork. Most of us improvise: prop a board on a couple of bricks, or lay a t-square across the table, elevated by phone books. You could even use a mahl stick. There are some lovely clear acrylic bridges commercially available, if you know where to look. (See "Relevant Links" below.)

You can buy a mahl stick

There are commercially manufactured mahl sticks available for sale, but you'll have better luck shopping in sign-making stores than art supply shops. Luxury mahl sticks have a high price tag because of their beautiful wood finishes. The aluminum mahl sticks are made in two or three parts, light and collapsible for travel. Prices vary hugely, and they're a trick to find in Canada, but I can give you some ballpark figures. At the time of this writing (January 2006), a clear acrylic artist's bridge retails for $20 to $30 CDN, a plain aluminum mahl stick will run you about $15 CDN, and a fine wooden one can set you back at least $50 CDN. [For a few points of comparison, also at the time of this writing, my sweetie and I can see a first-release movie for roughly $25 CDN (if we don't want popcorn). A paperback novel costs about $12 CDN and a litre of milk costs about $2 CDN.]

You can improvise a mahl stick

All you need is a stick that will support your working hand without slipping or marking the work. What can you lay your hands on at your studio? Scrap dowel, or a pool cue? A broken hockey stick, or part of a fishing rod? Your cane, your umbrella, your putter? The advantage of using a cane as a makeshift mahl stick is that you can hang it from the drawing board until you need it next.

For example, looking around my studio, I see some prospects: the skeleton of crook-handled umbrella, the orphaned tubular aluminum legs of an old TV tray, bamboo poles, cardboard tubing, golf clubs, and an old folding easel I might sacrifice if I wanted to build a telescoping mahl stick.

You can make a mahl stick

My buddy Paul built me an excellent mahl stick last week from a spare length of doweling and a wooden ball.

Want to build one for yourself? Start with a convenient piece of dowel or rod in the neighbourhood of a meter long. (To my American friends: a meter is in the neighbourhood of a yard. Or "neighborhood.") It should be strong enough to resist bowing under the weight of your hand, without being a burden to hold up. Like athletes, we want our equipment to be strong and light. (This would be a great way to recycle a broken ski pole or other sports equipment made from "space age materials.")

Make one end "grippy" (optional). Paul dipped the dowel in Plasti Dip (TM), the stuff you use to rubberize tool handles. Aluminum mahl sticks usually have a knurled (textured) grip. If you're feeling sporty, buy some tape and wrap the end like a hockey stick or tennis racket.

Make the other end bulky. Paul put a wooden ball in a drill press to bore a hole, then he jammed the ball onto the dowel. You want the bulky end to be round, or round-ish, lifting the stick two to four centimetres off the surface. The traditional material is wadded fibre (such as wool or cotton), or a cork ball.

In the interests of research, we tried a variety of end-pieces. Some failed. The playground favourite, the red/white/blue striped ball, was too squishy to drill. Hollow balls, such as ping pong balls and squeaky pet toys, collapse under pressure. Safety tip: No golf balls. I don't know what's inside golf balls, but Paul blanched when I asked about drilling. Not safe. Not safe at all. Paul has no sense of humour about airborne fragments.

We quite liked the results with:

• Superballs & silicone balls, which might be a bit heavy, but they sure look cool!
• Cane tips & rubber leg tips, which are available off-the-shelf in several standard diameters.
• A yellow happy face stress release squeeze ball. After the debacle trying to drill the red/white/blue ball, we didn't risk power tools on the happy face. We used a utility knife to notch a suitable hole.
• A fishing "cork" bobber, expensive ($3.50 CDN) but so pretty!
• Our favourite: Styrofoam balls, ten for a buck from the local dollar store. They drilled like a treat. It was equally easy to ram one onto a stick by hand, like skewering a very stale marshmallow for roasting.

Make the bulky end non-slip. Traditionalists wrap the end of the mahl stick in a patch of chamois or other soft leather, tied at the neck as shown. A clean rag will do. [Here's a secret. Paul actually dipped both ends of my mahl stick in Plasti Dip, so I don't need the leather wrapping. The wooden ball at the end is already non-skid and easy to clean.]

Make the stick nice (optional). Sanding, staining and varnishing will make a wooden mahl stick easy on the eyes and hands. Clean-up's a breeze, too. But if you don't care about paw-prints and splinters, that's your business.

Relevant Links

You can find anything on the web if you look hard enough. When I went looking for relevant stuff, I found useful things at these links. However, the web changes every day. If one of these links should fade, you could use my description to do your own keyword search for similar relevant sites.

• This site sells sign-painting tutorials. The free sample lesson includes a short video loop of a sign-painter's hands doing script lettering, using a mahl stick.
  
• A keyword search on "mahl stick" was all it took to find a variety of mahl sticks in the online catalogues of Cheap Joe's, Dick Blick, Mister Art, and Ziggy Art before the fun wore off.
• Dick Blick Art Materials also carries see-through artist's bridges.
  
• Love wood? Oklahoma Wood Art has some beautiful turned mahl sticks in exotic woods.

Make it or Buy it?

Paul and I had almost everything we needed on hand, including dowels and leather and Plasti Dip. I raided a dollar store for balls. If you own a drill press, making a mahl stick is easy, and you'd have a hard time spending more than $15 CDN to do it. At the time of this writing (January 2006) a suitable dowel cost $1.50 CDN. If you don't own a drill press, you may have to get by with cotton wadding like our forebears, but it's still easy!

If I needed a folding, collapsing, or screw-together mahl stick, I'd buy it. If I wanted to give someone a beautiful heirloom tool for their studio or workshop, I might buy it. Who makes their own mahl stick? Traditionalists, thrifty shoppers, and anyone who's handy and/or fussy about their tools. In general, if I wanted a mahl stick, I'd make it.  But now I'll also stock them in my store, because I know that for someone else, store-bought might be better.

Mahl stick: Make it!

 

The Impressionism Scorecard

How to tell if it's Impressionism

Impressionism emerged as an influential style of painting in late nineteenth-century Paris. These painters were rejected by the mainstream art authorities of the day, so they decided to play the game their own way. There were eight official Impressionist exhibitions between 1874 and 1886. Many of its practitioners continued to work in this style well into the twentieth century. The big names were:

• Pierre Bonnard 1867-1947 (Les Nabis, then Intimisme)
• Mary Cassatt 1844-1926 (American)
• Edgar Degas 1834-1917
• Claude Monet 1840-1926 (An Impression, Sunrise 1872)
• Berthe Morisot 1841-1895
• Camille Pisarro 1830-1903
• Pierre Auguste Renoir 1841-1919
• Alfred Sisley 1839-1899 (British, sort of)
• Édouard Vuillard 1868-1940 (Les Nabis, then Intimisme)

What does Impressionism look like? It’s the pretty paintings, full of sparkly colour and light. People always seem to be dancing, or swimming, or drinking, or having a good time (but not in a rowdy Dutch genre painting way). The sun is always setting, or rising, or charmingly obscured by mist. There is no historical subtext or allegorical burden to interpret. Impressionist paintings don’t moralize. They flirt. They party. They dwell in the moment. Impressionism is outrageous avant garde art from just long enough ago that we’ve forgotten how shocking it was, but not so long ago that we think it’s boring and ugly. Instead, we accord it our civilization’s highest honour: we put it on greeting cards and tote bags and coffee mugs.

How can you tell if you're looking at an Impressionist painting? Here’s a scoring system you can apply. According to this system, Monet's Rouen Cathedral, Harmony in Blue (1893 Oil on canvas) earns at least 55 points, definitely an Impressionist painting. The Seurat painting The Circus (1890-1891 Oil on canvas) only scored a 25—clearly influenced by Impressionism, but outside the tent. But da Vinci’s Portrait of Lisa Gherardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo (1503-1506 Oil on panel) gets a very un-Impressionistic –80 (or worse).

Take this scorecard into the gallery (or your art history class). Let’s see how well we can sort the sheep from the goats, shall we? I think it’s safe to say that any painting that scores less than zero is not Impressionism. Where’s the cut-off point? How can we fine-tune the scoring system to make sure it catches all Impressionist paintings without misidentifying not-so-Impressionistic works? For bonus marks, score a few paintings so we can calibrate the system. Feel free to suggest ways to fine-tune the weightings; should Parisian settings count for more, or less?

This scoring system is intended for entertainment purposes only. Glib blog commentary is no substitute for the informed opinion of an art history professional.

The Impressionism Scorecard

• Add 10 points if the work is by Bonnard, Cassatt, Degas, Monet, Morisot, Pissaro, Renoir, Sisley & Vuillard.
• Subtract 10 points for Pointillism (such as Seurat).
• Subtract 10 points for Fauvism (such as early Matisse).
• Subtract 10 points for Cloisonnisme (such as Gauguin).
• Subtract 10 points for anything painted before 1850 or after 1950.
• No points added or lost for Cezanne, Manet, Van Gogh, or Turner.
• Add 5 points for self-promotion or membership in an independent association of artists.
• Subtract 5 points if the work was accepted by the Académie de peinture et de sculpture for exhibition in the Salon.
• Add 5 points if the edges of subjects are blurry.
• Subtract 5 points if the edges of subjects are crisp.
• Add 5 points for sketchiness, dabs or visible brushstrokes.
• Subtract 5 points for subtle blending.
• Subtract 5 points for a smooth surface on the painting.
• Add 10 points for sparkliness and attention to the transient effects of light.
• Subtract 10 points for an idealized or generalized light source.
• Add 5 points for a light palette (high-key values).
• Subtract 5 points for a dark palette (low-key values).
• Add 5 points for lively, saturated colour.
• Subtract 5 points for moody, unsaturated colour or monochrome.
• Add 5 points for contemporary (19^th century) subjects and costumes.
• Subtract 3 points for each hero, Grace, Muse, angel, god, or mythical animal depicted.
• Add 10 points for a Parisian setting.
• Subtract 10 points for ships at sea.
• Add 5 points for Japanese props.
• Subtract 5 points for wild animals.
• Add 5 points for depictions of women with children. Who aren't dead.
• Subtract 10 points for trompe l'oeil.
• Add 5 points for cropping or an off-center focal point.
• Subtract 5 points overbearing use of one-point perspective.
• Add 5 points for candid poses.
• Subtract 5 points for idealized figures.
• Add 5 points for the landscape as a subject in its own right.
• Subtract 5 points for the landscape as a generic background to a narrative or a portrait.
• Add 10 points for anything painted en plein air.
• Subtract 10 points for anything painted en atelier.
• Add 5 points for the use of broken colour or scumbling.
• Subtract 5 points for colour mixing on the palette.
• Add 5 points for naturalistic depictions of bourgeois life.
• Subtract 5 points for moralistic depictions of peasant life.
• Subtract 5 points for anything narrative, allegorical, mythical, biblical, educational, inspirational, historical or uplifting.
• Add 5 points for dancers, horses, or haystacks.
• Subtract 5 points for military uniforms, weapons or combat.
• Add 5 points for coloured shadows.
• Subtract 5 points for black shadows.
• Add 5 points for oil paint from tubes.
• Subtract 10 points for fresco, egg tempera, or painting on panel.
• Subtract 10 points for anything where an onlooker said, "The eyes seem to follow you around the room" just on general principle.

What if you can't visit a gallery?

If you can’t get to a gallery, or an art history class, take a virtual tour. Score some of the fine works in the on-line collections of the Louvre (Hint: No Impressionism) and the Musee d’Orsay (Hint: Mostly Impressionism). Read up on some Impressionist background and generally enjoy art from the comfort of your Herman Miller Aeron chair.

Art on the Web

• Art before Impressionism, the Louvre, Paris
• Colour theory
• An Impression, Sunrise by Monet , the painting for which they named the whole movement
• A web exhibition on impressionism
• The National Gallery, London
• The Musèe d'Orsay, Paris
• The Art Institute of Chicago
• Art after Impressionism, Van Gogh

Reasons for rejecting ideas

When I was studying for my Master's degree in fine art, I made up this list one day, and posted it in my studio. Each item had a checkbox next to it. I set out, over the course of two years, to break each one of my own rules. That is, I tried to make at least one piece of work that went against this list. I figured that was the only legitimate way to test the validity of each rule; did it stand up to the test?

Hint: Most of the rules did not hold up to close scrutiny, but it was a real education about myself and my internally imposed restrictions on artmaking. Breaking the rules made some good work.

As an exercise for the reader, make your own list. What reasons do you use to reject ideas?

Linda's favourite reasons for rejecting ideas:

• It's not controlled/finished use of materials!
• It might damage the workspace!
• The work couldn't be shown!
• The work couldn't be moved!
• The work couldn't be moved with a Chevette!
• I can't afford the materials!
• The subject matter violates my privacy!
• The subject matter violates someone else's privacy!
• It's slight!
• It's derivative!
• It's not serious!
• It might even be whimsical!
• It's funny!
• It's got no content, just formal exploration of materials!
• It's not planned all the way through!
• The materials aren't archival!

Some good advice I received that year:

• "Turn your practice upside-down, do things you wouldn't normally do."
• "Dislocated? Disoriented? Do work about that."
• "Look at the specific rather than the general."
• "Where is the emotion in the finished work?"
• "Think about why you're concerned with 'productivity'."
• "Develop the piece as a whole rather than letting one part get too far ahead of another."
• "You've only got two years."

More reasons to reject ideas:

• It's decorative!
• It's not in good taste!
• It's breakable!
• It's silly!

My life with the elephants

In my brief foray into standup comedy, here was my schtick: I'd draw elephants. I'd stand on stage with an easel and a marker, like a late-night girl-child Mr. Dress-up, and draw elephants. That's not the funny part, in case you were wondering. The funny part is that I'd invite the audience to name a famous artist and then I'd draw an elephant in the style of that famous artist.

I gave up standup comedy. Not just because I was a twenty-something dilettante with the career focus of a mayfly. Not just because comedy is a dog-eat-shaggy-dog profession with a greater exposure to secondhand smoke than fire-fighting. I gave up standup comedy because the audience always named the same five damned artists.^[1]

I'm an artist. I'm not famous and I'm not rich and you've never seen my work. I teach drawing and painting and, yes, thank you, it is a real job.

There are good days teaching art and there are bad days. On a good day teaching art, a student gets better, or tries something new, or discovers a painter whose work they enjoy.

On a bad day teaching art, I meet people who want to learn to paint without learning how to draw. I meet people who want to learn to paint without mixing colours^[2], without cleaning brushes, without getting their hands dirty. I meet people who want to learn how to make art without having to look at any. On a bad day teaching art, somebody asks to be taught how to paint just like Robert Bateman^[3] except smaller, and in oils, and could it be lighthouses instead of animals.

A bad day teaching art is a very bad day indeed.

Does this happen to other teachers? Do people show up at the Blue Jays fantasy camp and say, "Coach, I'd like to skip batting practice and just work on my home run trot?" Do new drivers get in the training car and announce, "I won't need first and second gear because I'm never going to be travelling that slow?" Do students arrive at the kung fu school for the first time and say, "Sign me up for black belt classes; it'll save time?"^[4]

Or is it just art?

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A Parable On Learning To Paint

This is a parable. That means that Spanish is not the real subject. Spanish is a metaphor for the real subject, which is art. It's like how Aesop went on and on about foxes and frogs in his fables, but he was really talking about people. This is a parable on learning to paint.

A classroom. The teacher, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, is trying to edit the last chapter of his latest novel when two students enter, Amy & Bruce.

Amy: Hello, we'd like to learn to speak Spanish.

 

Remember, this is a parable on learning to paint. Nevertheless, Señor Marquez is hospitable and pleasant.

G.G.Marquez: You'd like to learn to speak Spanish? Good. Welcome.

Bruce: Not all of it, you understand.

Amy: Oh, no, maybe just the short words.

G.G.Marquez, bemused: The short words.

Bruce: Or the pretty ones.

G.G.Marquez: The pretty ones?

Amy: Can we get just the nouns?

G.G.Marquez: Nouns. You only want nouns?

Bruce: The pretty nouns.

G.G.Marquez, suddenly weary & feeling his years: Of course. Spanish, but just the short, pretty nouns.

Amy: That's right.

G.G.Marquez: Does it have to be Spanish? Umberto Eco's office is just down the hall. I hear Italian is a very pretty language. Lots of nouns.

Bruce: We want to speak Spanish.

G.G.Marquez: Why?

Amy: Ricky Martin speaks Spanish.

Bruce: Do you know Ricky Martin?

G.G.Marquez: Not personally, no.

Amy: Really? I thought all you Spanish knew one another.

G.G.Marquez: Oh, for the love of God, we're not even from the same continent.

Bruce, whispering to Amy: The Spanish are all so touchy.

G.G.Marquez, bitter but resigned to his fate: Fine. Class is Tuesday. Pick up the textbook in advance.

Amy: A book? Oh, dear, we don't want to read Spanish, or to understand it when it's spoken to us. We just want to speak it.

G.G.Marquez: God in heaven, why?

Bruce: Why? Well, I like the clothes.

 

Marquez flinches.

Amy: I've heard Spaniards are very emotional--

 

A vein begins to throb on Marquez's forehead.

Bruce: And erotic--I mean, exotic--

 

Marquez is speechless.

Amy, whispering: And they do a lot of drugs.

 

Remember, this is a parable on learning to paint. Spanish is a metaphor for art, Spaniards are a metaphor for artists, and drugs are bad.

Enter Cathy, another student, carrying a book.

Cathy: Excuse me. I just had my first lesson in Spanish this morning. So now can you explain to me why everyone says Don Quixote is such a great novel? 'Cause I don't get it.

 

Exit Gabriel Garcia Marquez, weeping.

Pause.

Cathy: I'll bet Cervantes got a grant for this.

 

This is a parable on learning to paint, and the moral is written in Spanish:

Quando dicen al profesor como el enseñara ustedes recibiran la educacion que merecen.

If you tell the teacher how to teach, you get the education you deserve.

 

---

Originally published in the Globe & Mail, October 1999, in a slightly different form, under the title "Aesop and the Sunday Painters."

---

Endnotes

1. Dali, Da Vinci, Escher, Picasso, and someone in the Group of Seven (they're interchangeable).
2. "I need light olive green. Why isn't there a tube of light olive green?" "Because you can mix your own light olive green." "But how will I get the same colour next time?" "Practice." "Practice? That's not very creative."
3. Not an example chosen at random. It's always Robert Bateman. Mr. Bateman, get off your Salt Spring Island and you try teaching these folks how to paint like Robert Bateman.
4. No, they don't. People don't skip ahead to black belt classes before earning their lower sashes because they know they'd get their asses kicked in sparring sessions with the real black belt candidates.

How to talk to your kids (or your adults) about their art

"Kids are not little adults. But they are professionals. Their job is to play, their job is to experiment, their job is to try different things."

Chuck Jones (the guy who drew Bugs Bunny)

Why do art?

Practising art, as a child or as an adult, is a joyous activity that awakens our senses in the rest of our day-to-day life. A few of us may eventually become working artists. But there are many more benefits to be gained doing art.

• self-esteem
• manual dexterity & physical co-ordination
• organization
• self-discipline
• creativity
• risk-taking
• problem-solving & decision-making
• visualization & planning
• spontaneity & responsiveness
• a personal aesthetic
• relaxation
• communication
• emotional expression
• respect for the individuality of others . . . and oneself

What you say to your kids about art can either reinforce these goals . . . or undermine them dreadfully. Who doesn't remember some devastating experience-in grade two, perhaps with a well-meaning adult who "corrected" your painting because "trees have to be green, dear"?

Five tips on talking to your kids about their art

"Right" or "Wrong" applies only to the use of tools & materials, not to the artwork or subject matter.

Creative folks try to practice divergent thinking (where we get lots of different answers and ideas) instead of convergent thinking (where we're trying to conform by arriving at the one correct answer). It's usually a good thing when your kids' paintings don't look like any of the others in the class.
P.S. Give them more blank paper, fewer colouring books.

Focus on the process, not the product.

What you're trying to do is feed back their explorations to them--being neither too critical nor too gushy--and leave lots of room in the conversation for them to talk, too. What they think about their artwork is more important than what you or I think.
What you're trying not to do is impose adult standards on kids' work. You probably know, from your own childhood experience, that the most crushing thing you can say is "What is it?"

Let your kids decide which works are the best for display.

Sure, you may save everything (dated) in a box so you can look back on their progress, but you obviously can't show it all off. The latest work can go on the fridge door. Then buy a clip frame (easy to change the artwork) and encourage your kids to select their favourite of the month to decorate the front hall. Doing art is one of the only opportunities kids have in their week to exercise, explore & develop their own judgement. At the easel, they're in charge of what's right, what's best, what's next. Instead of learning & conforming to an external adult standard of excellence, they're discovering their own.

Don't over-praise.

If you gush all the time, your kids stop valuing your praise and may eventually doubt that anything they do is praiseworthy.

Praise them for doing, not being.

Focus your praise on the work accomplished, not on your kids' innate brilliance. ("What a great idea!" or "You really worked hard on this painting!" rather than "You're so clever.") Get it? Kids who are rewarded for "doing" (working hard & making progress) continue to thrive. Kids who are congratulated for "being" smart--or artistic or imaginative--often start playing it safe to protect their image.

What NOT to say . . .

Even "Tell me about your painting" can embarrass young or non-verbal kids. For example, here are some of the most notorious things never to say to an artist of any age or experience.

• "What is it?"
• "Is it done yet?"
• "Who ever heard of a green cat?"
• "Next time, try to be tidier."
• "Let me do it for you."

Honourable mention goes to the great classic, "It's so . . . interesting."

What to say . . .

Focus praise on the effort, not the product. For example:

• "How did you do this?"
• "You seemed to be having fun."
• "You were really concentrating."
• "What an interesting way to use the brush."

Talk about the shapes, colours & marks you see. For example:

• "What I notice first about your drawing is . . ."
• "What I like most about this is . . ."
• "Isn't it interesting how you've used lots of . . . "

Promote self-evaluation. For example:

• "Have you put in everything you want to show about the subject?"
• "Do all the parts of the picture look like they belong together?"
• "Which of your paintings from today do you like best, and why?"

Encourage effort, enjoyment, & risk-taking. For example:

• "It's fun to try it different ways."
• "We learn a lot from our mistakes."
• "Can you think of other ways to use this tool?"
• "Let's try anyway."
• "It's okay to get dirty."
• "I'm proud of you when you try hard things."

You are the first art teacher your kids ever know

Your interest & informed praise contribute daily to your kids' creative development.

My own parents never studied art or teaching. (My mother says she was actually excused from grade five art because it was too damaging to her self-esteem.) But Mummy always got the movers to leave behind big heaps of the blank newsprint paper they used to wrap our dishes, and she never bought me colouring books. Daddy said, "Of course you can learn to run a jigsaw" and everybody said it was okay to get dirty. I thank them every chance I get.