Wednesday 27 May 2015

Getting to grips with your inner leaf

For me, looking at leaves is a deeply spiritual experience. I don't get the same feeling from flowers, fruits, stems or seeds - only leaves. They represent life at their very core. Without chlorophyll the world would be a very different place. Back in 2012 I took my house mate to Kew for a day out. Whilst inside one of the glasshouses I noticed how the light was shining through the leaves of a fern, revealing all of the complex minuscule veins and a myriad of greens. It was breathtaking, and in true fashion, just like when you see anything amazing, I wanted to share the experience. I grabbed Oxana's arm and pointed the dazzling effect out. Surprisingly, it didn't appear to have quite the same effect on her. She just looked at it then looked at me, then looked at it again and said 'I now see your world and how you see things, which is so very different to me - how fascinating...'. I wasn't disappointed with her response, more curious - it was not at all what I was expecting and I did ponder on it for a while.. In fact I still am. Perhaps we all do see things so differently, both physically and metaphorically.

Open this image in a new tab on large... how very different these two leaves are despite being on the same plant. That leaf on the left is incredible, it's like Lycra. Nightmare to get this type of green right in a painting mind.. tricky to mix the bright greens and make them look acceptable on paper. Martin Allen once told me to photograph with a white background as it really helps when it comes to painting from a photograph, but I rarely do this out in the field. I find bringing the plants indoors can alter their spirit too and this subsequently gets transcribed into the finished piece. Sometimes, however, the white background rule does seriously help - a little tip.
When I look at a leaf I don't. I realise I am talking in riddles, but I look at it through something else first. 'I feel it'. I feel it, but not through touching, but through my eyes and breath. I sit next to it for a while and I breath it in. My eyes trace the ripples across the surface, riding the undulations and feels the 'pulse'. I dive in. Its almost like merging with the leaf - I become the leaf. I feel it's sap pulsating. I feel its exhaustion or happiness. I telepathically talk to it, rather like a shaman. I pin point any issues, I feel its pain or joy. I do this to the entire plant as well. I found the pineapple rather easy to do this with, but other things can be harder and more closed. This is always reflected in the finished piece. Sally and Caroline where very open, the Corona de Espinas lettuce was not. Also note I can't seem to do this with flowers as well as with leaves. Their sheer brilliance, gaudiness and deceptional designs flumux me.

Turmeric in the shade of a banana under (what probably is) dirty glass... see how 'flat' this is. I feel this would be a nightmare to paint and would finish in a rather boring, drab painting. Dissatisfied with the how the light was falling on the plants at Kew, I ended up growing my own Turmeric and working from it that way in full sun. The results were better.
So yes, first thing is first - I 'feel' the leaf. I try to do this on either in full blown sun or in the dead of night. I have collection of night-time dialogues which I haven't begun to explore yet as it is a totally different world. One day I will - I am edging closer to crossing that bridge. I rarely venture out on a cloudy day - discourse becomes slow and foggy and paintings become flat without highlights (above). Rain brings out a different effect again, but it's difficult to record as there is often 'interference on the wire'.

I love these beets. I wanted to paint them on the day I found them, but am still finding it too difficult to get that lurid green right. I struggled with Caroline and have been ever since. I am currently using a new mix, but it still isn't right (broad beans). Looking through leaves is important as you get to understand their structure better. I can only compare this to the anatomical studies artists have to do of human bones and muscles before they can take the proper leap to portraiture.
So yes... I am borderline bonkers but that's just the way it is. I could never teach this stuff, it just happens. Just like I couldn't get Oxana to really dive into those fern fronds. If I painted them though and then showed her, she might have got it. Something about transcribing something into paint helps bridge the gap between worlds.

Colour issues - if you are going to use a camera remember that the colours rarely match. This is why I make notes on colour. Check out this crazy basil. This image hasn't been modified at all, this is how it came out and I am sure you will agree, the greens are definitely incorrect - no way is it this blue.

Artichoke Leaf
So my dialogue with the artichokes started in October 2014. Every morning since then they seem to have 'dragged me into conversation' as I've walked past them. I noticed yesterday that I said to my mother 'the fields are becoming boring'... What I meant by this is that the fields have stopped talking in the struggle of the heat, but also the crops that the farmers are now growing (mostly corn now) are really 'unchatty'. I have a sneaky suspicion that the corn is genetically modified - there is something eerie about them. Even the neighbours have commented on their shocking rate of growth and no body likes them. Come August my walk will be entirely in their shadow. Despite the drought though, the artichokes still lure me in. The poplar trees and the artichokes are the only ones that do. They always seem so pleased to see me.

I do love a bit of drama, which means I look at leaves from all angles. I study their their weak spots and their strong points. Check out this fig. He's pretty flamboyant and a bit of a show off. I love the way the light is casting those seriously dark shadows where the ridged veins are on the upper leaf. Light is good like that, it accentuates all characteristics. If I were painting a fig, I'd make sure I'd get those veins in whilst remembering it's smell. Smells are good, they bring you back to the source.
I build up to a painting. I don't just pick something and do it straight away... unless of course it is the pineapple, which I did do straight away because he told me to. I watched the artichokes shrivel and die in the winter and come back up this spring. I never knew they are perennial, which in a way is essential knowledge before embarking on a painting. Life cycles are important as they tell you about the energy in the plant and therefore inform you about its spirit. Being perennial, these are robust plants and their leaves and flowers reflect this. One day I skipped over the ditch to have a closer look. It was a very bright day and I was gobsmaked by the way the light bounced off of the leaves, revealing these dark intense gulleys across its surface. The greens looked different close up, everything was more intense. I made some sketches and took some photographs and picked couple of leaves to take back.

Sometimes I end up stitching images together... I almost did this with the artichoke as the leaf wouldn't fit into one photograph, but if I had painted the entire leaf I would have lost some of the detail, so I didn't stitch on this occasion.

Photographs are an important part in my work. They are a back up plan for when the leaves die, but more importantly, they effect the way I plan a composition and help me to look even closer at the surface of the leaf. Furthermore, they refine all the spiritual information I gather into something tangible. Although my paintings are not portraying the artichoke's life over time in the form of a lifeline or diagram, time is an important element. Time is distilled into one image and for me the photograph helps me do that.   


Here are a couple of images to demonstrate a point. This is still the Artichoke on that very same day, but how different it looks. To me it looks 'weak' and these sections of leaf do not reflect the true nature of the plant in my view. I don't like the skinny midrib, the asymmetrical growth form and the shadows that are being cast from it's upper leaves. This photograph will not do!


Another image below - a better one... No manipulation no fake lighting. Just the sun. 


I spent a good while planning out my composition. Probably half a day. I hate doing this. I feel I struggle because I lack training. Mum waltzed into my studio when I was planning this one and told me to stick to the golden ratio. I thought 'what the heck is that in a painting?!' I know it as a number pattern from my science days, but I can't see it graphically. I just don't know about these things. In response to mums suggestion, I spent time researching the ratio and drew it in so that the midrib fell into the pattern, but it looked wrong and I didn't like it. Therefore I did it again my way. I am sure Leonardo de Vinci was correct in his thinking, but in this particular case it wasn't working. Compositionally, I do tend to just dive in and hope for the best. 

I wanted to capture a lot of detail in this piece. When I saw the leaf in the field I felt like a little person and wondered what it would be like to walk across the surface of this huge leaf. I wanted my painting to reflect this day dream, so I super sized it with the help of the digital photographs and made a line drawing. Sometimes I enlarge sketches on a photocopier , but this time I didn't. Magnifying the image meant I lost some of the leaf edges, but I didn't care. I rather like the horrifyingly intense feeling of trapping this angry, pulsating leaf into a frame.

Open these up in a new tab. They will be blurred - photographs only work up to a point, but check out the colours. It's almost like silver in both parts of the leaf. It only really the surrounding flesh that alters it. Dry brush for sure...it isn't washy or light. Where there is colour in the tint it's actually surprisingly dark. I discovered this when looking at Rory McEwen's work. Have a look. 
 

Then I got to work... dark bits in first, then the lightest, then the mid-range tones. Weaving around the paper. I always put purple or pink in my greens and choose my blues carefully. It's Daler Rowney cobalt blue in this one... not keen on the ultramarine. Phthalo on the tints. Greys are purple, blue and yellow mixed together. It's a limited palette of 6 colours, mainly 3. I am using large brushes. I tried using thin ones, but they keep drying out in the Spanish heat. 

Right - dead leg from sitting at the desk too long, so will round this post up. Might take my camera and make a video for the next post. I hope you don't all feel that I am completely insane and that this helps you to understand how I see leaves. If you have trouble illustrating them, I recommend sitting with a leaf for at least half an hour before picking up a pencil or brush and attempting to make any form if representation on paper. Look at it under different lighting conditions if possible. Shine a light through it, over it, and across it at different angles. Cast shadows and remove them. Smell it, touch it, dream about it. Watch how it moves in the wind. Watch how the greens change colour depending on the type of light source and if you have a lens, microscope or jewellers loope, look at it through one of those and make friends. Its a good start, but I am no expert and we are all learning. Remember that, its important.

5 comments:

  1. Dear Jess, having just replied again to your previous message on the subject of leaves, we crossed in the post and you now have presented this stunning post. This description of your experience is, I suspect, just tip of the iceberg for you.

    For many people learning how to paint leaves, it is often a subject that they simply can not find enough information on. How to paint books often focus mainly on flowers or fruit and less on the leaves. I suspect there is a book inside you on this subject, it is certainly something that you could do well, because you have the experience as well as the knowledge and the joy.

    Peonies winking back at you!
    Coral.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hi Coral, Glad the post is ok - I sort of just banged it out there and then. I have to thank you for your suggestion in writing it, it really got me thinking and gave me what was a rather productive day in the studio! I am honoured that you direct your students to Inky Leaves, what a boon! Thank you - it means so much. I might do some more posts on the subject, ones that I will think more about and lay out better. After writing this post so quickly I ended up going back into it last night and tweaked bits. Realised that I hadn't really proofed it and that maybe none of it made sense. I am a dreadful teacher!

      Did my back in yesterday which wasn't very clever... It's amazing how many accidents one can have at an easel. Feeling better today, but a little sore. Twisted whilst bent... not a clever idea. All my accidents seem to be twist related.

      Oh how lovely! Peonies winking back at me. Wish we had peonies here. Dahlia's have just come out these week though. Rather unusual to have Dahlia's here in Spain, but our Spanish landlady loves them and we have a natural spring here to water them with, so they seem to survive the heat.

      Dahlia's giving the thumbs up at you

      Jess

      Delete
    2. Hi Coral, Glad the post is ok - I sort of just banged it out there and then. I have to thank you for your suggestion in writing it, it really got me thinking and gave me what was a rather productive day in the studio! I am honoured that you direct your students to Inky Leaves, what a boon! Thank you - it means so much. I might do some more posts on the subject, ones that I will think more about and lay out better. After writing this post so quickly I ended up going back into it last night and tweaked bits. Realised that I hadn't really proofed it and that maybe none of it made sense. I am a dreadful teacher!

      Did my back in yesterday which wasn't very clever... It's amazing how many accidents one can have at an easel. Feeling better today, but a little sore. Twisted whilst bent... not a clever idea. All my accidents seem to be twist related.

      Oh how lovely! Peonies winking back at me. Wish we had peonies here. Dahlia's have just come out these week though. Rather unusual to have Dahlia's here in Spain, but our Spanish landlady loves them and we have a natural spring here to water them with, so they seem to survive the heat.

      Dahlia's giving the thumbs up at you

      Jess

      Delete
  2. Thank you Jess. My occasional pupils love this Inkyleaves post!

    Its surprising how many gaps there are in the botanical painting 'how to' spectrum, and this issue of leaves is one of them. I have long wondered why someone specifically interested in leaves has not written a book on how to paint them, but now the idea is out there I suspect someone will run with it.

    Perhaps more so than flowers and seeds, leaf matter is so closely connected to light, and light is such a fundamental aspect of painting that in the end the bigger picture of the greening of the planet and the micro picture of the single leaf living out its life makes for a complete and universal allegory on how we survive as well as how we thrive as creative beings.

    This early summer has been monumental in its greening in England, and it has had an amazing effect on everyone. The balancing effect of the green hues and the phenomenal lushness of it all as seen against some tranquil light blue skys and evening sunsets, is gifting us with one of those lovely summers when everything is as gorgeous as it can possibly be.

    Power to you and your leaves Jess. Flower Power step aside and clap politely whilst the leaves have their day in the sun.



    ReplyDelete
  3. Hi Jess

    Just back to civilisation after my trek through the 'Bwindi Impenetrable Forest' to see the Mountain Gorillas in Uganda. What a privilege when such majestic animals let you into their world for an hour or so - quite emotional & awe inspiring. The anticipation & also miss belief that I would actually get to see them, made my Botanical Brain freeze.

    But wow, while the generic & family names lost me, the plethora and variety of plants was also amazing. Then I return to your recent blogs & exchanges with Coral, over leaves & light & I'm back there. While I have no hope of even trying to replicate an image, my mind can still clearly focus on the variety of greens within one species, one plant and also one leaf. When I look at many of the photographs taken, it is my memory of the colours rather than the image before me that I recollect.

    I was clearly excited about the way the light & shade (sometimes created by the Gorillas) changed the appearance of many of the plants. While the Gorillas will always be the highlight of the trek for me, I am pleased that my botanical appreciation was heightened. With my interest in the whole environment, I'm not sure why I surprised myself !!

    So thank you for your green leaf appreciation.

    P.S. My Peonies are looking better than ever this year !

    ReplyDelete