I have recently
Pilgrims at Emmaus
oil painting by Rembrandt van Rijn (1628-29) taken another look at Rembrandt's paintings (prompted by a PBS special on his work and a local exhibit of his etchings). Since most of the portraits were completed indoors, he had to create the light source and locate the light areas in the paintings. One of the paintings has a group of men seated at a table and the table actually glows. While it is an un-natural scene, the impact is outstanding. We should look back at the work of the master painters from time to time for lessons learned and forgotten.

Changing the light Dry Creek Sycamore
oil painting is something I do frequently. Lately, I've been playing with colour temperature. I always try to "read" the light to see if it is warm or cool. However, I find it difficult to do. My solution is to "read" the shadow instead. I think the eye has a lot easier time telling if shadow is warm or cool. Once I've made a determination, I assume the light is the opposite, and I paint it as such. Sometimes, if there's any doubt in my mind about temperature, I just make a decision, accurate or not, and then stick with it. These practices lead to paintings that seem to work.

When I looked at Citrus
watercolour painting
14.5 x 21 inches your video I was shocked at the bright red pants you were wearing. Probably on a gray day, it wouldn't matter, but on a sunshiny day, wouldn't that red affect the colors in your painting? A friend used to say that if we were painting a white house and a red truck passed that it would change the colors in the shadows especially. "Light bounce" is the term we use for that. Deer hunters wear red caps and perhaps red clothing, so that other hunters will see them and not mistake their movement for a deer. Perhaps something like that is your reason for the red attire.

(RG note) Thanks, Naomi. The red pants were part of a floater-pant and jacket outfit that they give you at fishing lodges. I painted in the mornings and fished in the afternoons. Even on grey mornings those pants reflected on the paintings, but in the afternoons they didn't seem to bother the fish.

On a dreary cold day La Mansion
watercolour painting
8 x 10 inches a few years ago, I painted a scene of our local Salado Creek and then added a rising sun on the far bank. As my son was framing the painting, he asked me the name, and I told him, "Sunrise on the Salado". He told me that I would have to change the name, since the sun didn't rise on that side of the Salado... I informed him that I was an artist and that I could make the sun rise and set where ever I wanted.

Much like the nature
Greg Packard painting on location of life imposes challenges on each of our souls and requires us to adapt on the fly or unwillingly fade, plein air painting forces us to improvise and make quick decisions or end up with a frustrated painting experience. I find myself often being inspired by a scene outdoors and setting up to paint only for the light and conditions to change, then painting virtually from memory or going an entirely different direction from the original intent. The joy and honor of painting plein air is the first-hand experience of being inspired by nature. That inspiration carries way beyond the field. It carries into my imagination where things remain vivid, dynamic and alive. I can revisit it at will at the studio or wherever, where the sun and light can slip around this cloud or that mountain at my discretion. It's not the control that's exciting - that's a stalemate at best. Rather, it's the exploration of creativity among the thrill of nature, the original creation, a sunburst on a bright red rose!

I was struck Hesitation Tango
oil painting by your comments on light. I've begun a word scrapbook to refer to when I need it. I was schooled in painting the nude: set model, point a light at her/him and then work away at the chiaroscuro (clear/obscure) of Rembrandt. So for a while when I worked alone I sat almost in complete darkness and my work was dark like planets in outer space, almost no secondary light - mono-colour. After returning to outdoor work things lit up again.

Imagine
acrylic painting my surprise when I read your latest missive titled "Changing the light"! I go out with fellow plein air painters here in Sacramento every Monday morning. We paint from 8 a.m. to about 11 a.m. It's the same thing! I captured the colors in the water, tree lines and distant city buildings. Only one problem... boring! I've spent a number of hours now in my studio simply changing the colors. I work in acrylic, so this is easy to do within short periods of time. I think I'm finally there. We're looking south down the Sacramento River. It can't be a summertime sunrise or an anytime sunset. Maybe it's an early morning winter view. Ah, who cares - sometime in the future, I may paint over it.

Keeping lighting consistent is
watercolour painting a challenge especially when working with photo reference from varied sources (yet another reason why it's way better to take your own photos), or when making up a composition from your own head. That's when you can fall back on drawing experience. Shadows make certain patterns and with enough drawing practice, these patterns can be programmed into your head--enough so you can produce something convincing. The "Rembrandt lighting" on a three quarters view face is a classic example - the nose casts a shadow on the cheek and oftentimes there is a little triangle of light on the cheek of the shadowed side of the face. Also the head of a figure casts a certain shadow over the shoulder, and sometimes that shadow has a little "nose shape" sticking out of it. So that's where drawing experience can help. But sometimes you just have to have a model, whether it's a real one or something made up. Sometimes when I'm stuck with lighting I build a small clay model, or buy plastic animals, or build a whole scene with cardboard, fabric, paper, etc., and then just light it all up.

I have been trying to grapple with Cliffs and hayfields in Burlington
plein-air painting the problem of producing vibrant studio work for some time. I am mainly a plein-air painter and very much enjoy being surrounded by nature. However, one big limitation of plein air work is size, and I am trying to find a way of working from plein air sketches and/or photographs that I take from paintings created in the studio. Mind you, in a show of work by Tom Thomson that I saw in Ottawa a few years ago, I felt that his initial sketches were much more expressive than his studio works based on them, so maybe this is a problem no matter what the caliber of the artist. I would appreciate any hints on how to make the transition.

(RG note) Thanks, Carol. It's a given that field work is going to be cursory and yet often expressive, while studio work, when derived from field work tends to be more contrived and stiff. It's a constant fight to keep studio work fresh.

Having spent 26 years Mayne Island Arbutus
watercolor painting in Vancouver, B.C., I experienced my fair share of dark gloomy rain-filled days. The air is usually electric during these days, charged with ozone, and quite unlike any other weather experience. In 1984 I spent a weekend on Mayne Island, and it was dark and gloomy the whole time, with a constant "rain mist" falling continuously. It was a weekend for photography, not painting. A dry spot could not be found anywhere outdoors. I stumbled upon a beautiful arbutus tree (madrona) stretching its limbs out toward the horizon. I started the watercolor in 1984, and became stuck because I couldn't figure out how to paint the arbutus. I pulled it out of storage a few months ago and after much pondering what to do and how to do it, finished the piece last week.

Playing with light is my favorite part of being an artist. Even creating something that did not exist at the time it was witnessed, as is the case with Mayne Island Arbutus. I could not see the painting in my mind without some measure of light in it, as it creates the mood of the entire painting. In addition to that, I couldn't find the original slide which turned out to be a blessing. I had to use my imagination and memory to finish the painting.

As an Misty Seashore
oil painting
18 x 24 inches outdoor painter I learned a long time ago that light is the key to everything but I was always ingrained with the truth of what I saw. Exaggerating the light effects in nature helped to create more dramatic paintings in my studio when I worked from small pochade paintings done outdoors. When on location I often have "pushed the envelope" of light that day or night but it wasn't until I saw your latest clickback that I realized that "changing the light" on location was a unique and valid approach also. It is one more way that enables us to communicate to the viewer the special elements evident to us in the outdoor scene that has caught our eye, our heart and as a result our response to that experience. The changing light challenges us to depict it in such a way that it commands our attention if only for a minute and is a reminder of a moment of beauty in our universe.

From the time Sea grapes
acrylic painting
16 x 20 inches I was very young, my mother, also an artist, taught me to pay attention to the light, to see colors in reflections and shadows beyond the obvious. We'd play a game "can you see this color in that shadow?" I felt like I knew a secret that not everyone knew when we played that game! Shadows enchant me inviting me to see a world of colors and forms in such a mysterious way and I love to incorporate them into my art whenever possible.

Recently I completed a painting based on a photo I took of some backlit Sea Grapes leaves. The leaves gave way to beautiful colors and geometric forms and I've since learned that the attached painting is an example of what you call "contraluz."

(RG note) Thanks, Celeste. So many artists wrote to ask for a definition of "Contraluz." It's a Spanish word meaning a painting that involves one or another of the "against the light" effects. "Burnout" removes detail from an overexposed area. "Aura" gives a halo around backlit subjects. "Flare" is where backlit subjects themselves light up with colour—often bright red or orange.

Recently I Sarah in shadows
watercolor painting
16 x 24 inches have been working on twenty portraits using light and shadow as my theme. Your letter was so appropriate! I tried to create drama and mood in the two-source lighting for warm and cool effects. I paint many layers of gesso on OSB (oriented strand board) and then proceed with watercolor. I wanted to promote mystery in each subject's portrait with a focus on strong lights and darks. But I also wanted to use restraint so as not to overcome the personality. Your reference list aptly described what I am trying to do.

My family members Indian Point Sunset, Savary Island
acrylic painting
8 x 10 inches who have mixed levels of art appreciation were all in awe last night as we attended an exhibition at a public gallery. This was sure proof that great art crosses all boundaries. Their delight was caused by different aspects of the paintings, some that would never cross my mind - it was great to see them illuminated by art. Interesting difference I noticed between my viewing and theirs was that they always look for a story behind the painting - who did it, why, what is interesting about it... if there is no story, they try to invent one... while I was satisfied by the beauty, quality or confidence of the painting on it's own. It's almost like the artist is concerned to create, educate, love, feed and dress up the painting and send it into the world, knowing that the world will make a story out of it.