New plein air landscape video

I've uploaded a new plein air video showing the production of this landscape painting.

You can view the video on Youtube here and you can read more on my other blog here.

Southern Art & Craft Trail 2017

It's that time of the year again (actually, it's a little earlier than usual). The Southern Art & Craft Trail, throughout the Great Southern region of Western Australia, opened last weekend and is on for the next couple of weeks.

Due to my hiatus, it's been a few years since I had any work in the trail, but this year I have a few new paintings on display at Haese's Framers in Albany, including my first-ever watercolour, shown above.

I believe this might be the first time Haese's has participated in the trail, so please show them some support and have a look at some of he terrific work they have for sale. You'll find Haese's at 99 Lockyer avenue in Albany.

Plein air problems - shed landscape in oil

A couple of weeks ago I did my first watercolour painting. As a subject, I chose to repaint an old plein air oil painting of a rural shed near my home.

My purpose was two-fold: firstly, to have a go at watercolour and, secondly, to fix a few of the problems in the original oil painting.

Here's the original plein air piece, which I did about 13 years ago.

Barker Shed

35x25cm oil on board.  

© Andy Dolphin

At the time, I was pretty happy with this painting but over the years, I've realised several issues that needed fixing.

The two major issues are a lack of tonal depth – the background is almost as dark and as saturated as the foreground – and the busy brushstrokes and patterns of light and dark over-complicate the scene and reduce the visual impact.

I sorted both of those problems out in the much cleaner and much simpler watercolour painting.

Barker Shed

30x21cm watercolour on Arches medium.  

© Andy Dolphin

Yesterday, I decided to re-do the painting in oil, paying attention to those same problems and trying not to make the same mistakes again.

Barker Shed

30x25cm oil on board.  

© Andy Dolphin

While the finished oil painting is far more detailed than the watercolour painting (and took considerably longer to do), those details retain a sense of unity with their surroundings. The overall contrast, especially of the shed against the background, is much improved from the original.

The tonal pattern of the new painting also provides much better visual impact than the original plein air work. To compare the two, try squinting at them until you only see light and dark. The new painting delivers a much stronger pattern.

I also added a subtle path as a lead in and to break up the large foreground area which would otherwise be a major slab of green. The path carries some of the earthy shed colour down into the lower right corner which helps to create a colour harmony. The distant fruit trees perform a similar role.

You might also note I have dropped that wooden crate from the front of the shed. In reality, the crate is no longer there and I prefer it this way, so I left it out.

Although the final painting is substantially different in effect when compared to the original, it retains a genuine sense of place and I'm sure anyone who is familiar with the location would readily recognise it.

Trying watercolour - a first attempt

Before I left Perth to move to the country, around 14 years ago, I bought some watercolours, brushes and a pad of watercolour paper , with the expectation that I might start doing some plein air watercolour paintings.

It never happened.

Since buying them, the paint tubes have remained unopened.

I recently discovered the Youtube channel of British watercolour artist Tim Wilmot, where he methodically demonstrates his approach to loose, semi-abstracted representational painting. It's a style of watercolour I have always liked and his demonstrations make it look possible.

So, with my new-found enthusiasm for watercolour, I dug out an old plein air oil painting - which has it fair share of issues - and decided to repaint it in watercolour while fixing some of those issues along the way.

In the hope it wouldn't be complete disaster, I also decided to video my progress. And since it wasn't a complete disaster, I edited the video and uploaded it to Youtube.



I hope, soon, to do an updated studio oil version of the original plein air painting. It will be interesting to compare the results.

Snow on Bluff Knoll

Just shy of 1100m high, Bluff Knoll is the highest peak in southern Western Australia and, as such, is the only place in Western Australia where snow is likely to fall every year. 

But, even on Bluff Knoll, snow is not exactly a common occurrence so when it does fall, it is something of an event and can result in traffic chaos.

Last year my son and I started doing some of the mountain hikes in our region and I also took an interest in reading weather charts in an attempt to predict snow. Last week those two pursuits came together and we  hiked to the top of Bluff Knoll to encounter a spectacular (by Western Australian standards) snow-covered landscape.

We woke at 2am, left home around 3am and arrived at a surprisingly empty Bluff Knoll car park almost an hour later. We began the 3km hike up the mountain around 4am, three hours before sunrise.

Luckily, the moon was almost full and the sky was clear so we had pretty good visibility, even when we turned our torches off. Once we exited the bush-land part of the walk and traversed the steady incline above the main treeline, we could see the mountain range for kilometres to the west although sunrise was still two hours away.

It was a slow, steady walk - made slower by me overheating twice.

Last Thursday morning was predicted to be one of the coldest mornings of the year and I was expecting wet, blustery weather - indeed there had been significant rainfall overnight - but morning on the mountain was clear and still. There was barely any breeze at all, so my five layers of clothing, plus ski gloves, very quickly turned out to be two layers of clothing and two gloves too many.

With that problem sorted, after two stops to shed layers and re-compose myself, we enjoyed a steady walk toward the summit.

By this stage, we had given up on any hope of seeing snow - it was far too pleasant. We were now just hoping to catch a nice sunrise from the top.

Near the 2km mark, we were overtaken by a reporter carrying a snowboard and after I wished him luck, he pointed to the snow at our feet. We hadn't noticed it in the dark.

From here on the snow increased almost exponentially every 20m or so, until it seemed like every surface, including every branch of every shrub, was caked in snow and ice. There wasn't nearly enough snow - or space - to truly accommodate a snow board, but the reporter was just providing a bit of humorous media fodder. 

The vista of snow slowed our walk still further as we stopped repeatedly to take photos in the pre-sunrise twilight. We eventually reached the top of the mountain just after sunrise and were greeted with the astonishing sight of the distant eastern ridge silhouetted against an orange sky with pink-orange sunlight streaming across the snow-covered foreground.

It was sublime. It was magical. It was, quite literally, a winter wonderland. And, if I am to work a painting angle into this story at all, let me say it provided a wonderful lesson in warm lights and cool shadows as it was difficult not to notice the orange-blue complements.

The best thing about this trip was that we were two of just a dozen or so people at the top. A month earlier, with snow predictions broadcast widely across social and mainstream media, hundreds of people converged to make the trek, resulting in access being restricted for most of the day by national park rangers.

But the best thing about this trip was the perfect weather. The throngs who battled the trek in July endured stormy, blizzard-like conditions with some snow flurries, but no snow on the ground.

But the best thing about this trip was that, although no snow fell for us, we saw possibly some of the best snow coverage this mountain ever enjoys.

But the best thing about this trip was that a quokka made an appearance at the top. Yep, I think that was definitely the icing on the cake - a quokka, on top of a mountain, in the snow. My son took a bunch of photos of it and, if you haven't already seen that story splashed all over the media, then I imagine a quick search will find it for you.

Please note, all images are copyright. Please do not re-publish without permission. Thanks.

Tangled Web: studio oil painting

Here's number two in my "year of the tree" series.

This group of white gums sits on a farm a few kilometres from home.

While I was initially taken in by the view to the Stirling Range, I was also interested in the patterns created by the twisting trunks and tangled branches and the umbrella-shaped leaf canopies that are typical of many large eucalypts.

As with my last painting, I wanted to capture the strong feeling of sunlight, not only as it played directly across the trunk, branches and leaves of the central tree, but also as it reflected onto the shaded side of the trunk and the undersides of the branches. In fact the shaded branches in the upper canopy have a younger, reddish bark that positively glows with the warmth and strength of that reflected light.

Although they run cattle on this property, I wanted something understated to help balance the image so I added three sheep to the left side. The fence post is also the result of some artistic licence.
 

Tangled Web

60x40cm oil on board.  

© Andy Dolphin

As before, that shadow colour on the main trunk looked like mud until the bright highlight was placed alongside it. It's quite unnerving to have it sitting there looking "wrong" but I'm sure I'll learn to trust it after painting a few more of these trees.

The trick with something like that is to trust the tone. You need to get that right or it will never work.

Start with what you consider to be the true "local" colour of the bark – a pale ochre in this case – then darken and cool it to the correct tone. Then you will need to add some reflected light into the mix for some parts of the tree. That reflected-light colour is dictated by the area surrounding the tree.

It can seem like a bit of a battle mixing a colour that is both warm and cool, but this approach should get you in the ballpark. Add variety to the bark with some slightly warmer and slightly cooler colours, and it will start to take form.

Organised Chaos: studio oil painting

I think I've decided to make 2017 the year of the tree, at least as far as painting goes.

Some of my earliest subjects, when I began pursuing fine art, were the karri trees of the southwest. These are among the tallest trees in the world and I produced quite a few paintings where karris were the star.

But in recent years I haven't really used trees as a focal point. Sure, they've been there in the landscape but, since the karri paintings, I have rarely studied trees as a subject in their right.

First cab off the rank for my "year of the tree" is a studio painting of a group of whitegums, or wandoo, which I found on a farm not far from home.

Whitegums are endemic to Western Australia and have a beautiful creamy, honey-coloured and mottled-grey bark that positively glows in light or shade. Older whitegums, especially those in exposed positions, have a tendency to lose limbs over the years and to twist and turn as the elements take their toll.

With branches snaking in all directions as they compete for light, and sometimes falling to the floor or getting hung up in other branches, the trees take on a kind of organised chaos in their constant struggle to survive.

In this painting, I attempt to capture some of that chaos by looking at the base of a group of whitegum trunks. I don't know if this is one tree that divided early in its life, or if three separate trees have survived for years huddled together. I suspect the former.

Organised Chaos

60x40cm oil on board.  

© Andy Dolphin

At 60cm x 40cm, this painting is somewhat bigger than the paintings I was doing leading up to my recent hiatus. The larger surface gave me the opportunity to explore the seemingly random pattern of branches in the tree canopy.

One important achievement in this piece was to get a sense of the reflected light illuminating the shaded sides of the trunks. Those are interesting colours to mix because they look like dark mud on the palette and yet have a warm glow about them when placed in context in the painting. The "mud" really came to life when the bright highlights were added to edge of the tree trunks.

Eastern Stirlings: studio oil painting

Last year my son Michael and I climbed a number of local mountains. One of those climbs was the walk to the top of Bluff Knoll, the highest point in the southern half of Western Australia.

To the east of Bluff Knoll lies a mountainous wilderness known colloquially as "the ridge walk". Requiring serious bush-walking, navigation and climbing skills it is, by all accounts, a magnificently hellish place to experience.

It's on our list.

It's not near the top of the list, however.

For now, I have to console myself with photos of the region, taken from the ground or from Bluff Knoll.

This painting, showing the view to Ellen Peak at the eastern end of the ridge, is based on mid-afternoon photos I took from the top of Bluff Knoll last September.

  Eastern Stirlings

34x20cm oil on board.  

© Andy Dolphin

I hope to take another look at this same scene once the cooler weather settles in later this year. Early morning or late evening should be spectacular.

Peaches and cream with John Wilson

John Wilson is an artist with a worldwide reputation. Based in the Blue Mountains, a couple of hours drive from Sydney, John has built a career on capturing the region in oil paint and last month I was lucky enough to find a spot in one of his 10-day masterclass workshops.

It was an amazing experience as John gave students his recipe for "peaches and cream" and "apricot" and explained his use of foundational warm and cool greys. No questions went unanswered as John shared the knowledge borne from of his years of professional experience.

Of the 10 days, three involved painting en plein air in some of the most beautiful places on earth. We painted from the Megalong Valley to the Capertee Valley and it was easy to see why so many artists are drawn to the region.

I ventured out on my own, before and after class every day and on the weekend in the middle of the course, snapping hundreds of photos. I also managed to do a few of my own paintings on the edge of the Katoomba cliffs.

One of my more-successful attempts was painted one morning from a cliff face not far from the Sky Rider motel where I stayed.

 Near Devils Hole (plein air)

25x20cm oil on canvas board.  

© Andy Dolphin

One thing you quickly learn here is to pay attention at the start and to cement the image in your mind because the light can change dramatically even in the short time it takes to do a small painting like this one.

And here is the "proof I really was there" photo.

As you can see in this photo, the dramatic shadow cast by the distant mountains in my painting was almost completely gone by the time I put down my brushes, less than one hour after I began.

One evening I went to a small lookout just before sunset and decided to challenge myself to see just how fast I could paint something.

I set about capturing the Three Sisters, arguably Katoomba's single-biggest natural attraction, as the light shifted rapidly with massive thunderhead clouds building all around and changing from bright fluffy white to rich, deep shades of orange and purple.

The final painting took about 30 minutes, after which there was no sunlight on the cliffs and it was too dark to tell what colours I was mixing.

Three Sisters (plein air)

20x25cm oil on canvas board.  

© Andy Dolphin

As a painting, it leaves a little to be desired but as an exercise, I absolutely love it.

Thanks John and Cecelia, and everyone who attended the workshop, for an inspirational two weeks with some great people. I hope to do it again soon.

Walking with Drones

Stirling Range, Western Australia.

Photo by Andy Dolphin.

I haven't painted for a while but have been kept busy with other things.

One of those things involves my son who purchased a drone last December. Since then he's been hunting for places to fly it and capture some of our amazing scenery in video and photos.

If you want to see our Great Southern region like you've never seen it before, you really should check out his Drone Video Youtube channel.

The reason I've been busy is because I've accompanied him on several of his trips from Denmark to Albany. For the last three weekends we've also completed a few of the walks in the Porongurup and Stirling ranges.

The first was Devils Slide, which at 650m above sea level is the highest peak in the Porongurup Range.

We took the track which starts near Waddy's Hut on the south side of the range. This is the shorter of two approaches, but it's also steeper. The first section of the walk follows the Wansborough Pass which is a track wide enough to drive a vehicle through. Although it is closed to public traffic, I assume it is still used for maintenance access by the ranger and for fire control when needed.

This track tested our resolve from the very start and reminded me how long it's been since I put my legs under any real pressure. I'm not the fittest person I know.

The end result, however, was worth the effort.

Devils Slide, Porongurup Range.

Photo by Andy Dolphin.

The photo above shows the view from near the top of the Devils Slide walk. It is much more impressive than I'd previously thought. I'll be going back as often as time allows, as it only 15-20 minutes from home and I'd like to see it at different times of the day, in all seasons.

Yesterday we visited the Stirling Range and tackled the Talyuberlup walk trail. This is a fairly steep walk and had a few dodgy spots where the track has eroded over the years leaving large steps that pose a small challenge when you have short legs. Plus, there had been rain earlier in the dayso there was a bit of slippery mud to add a little interest. But we made it to the top, some 783m above sea level, and took in one the most spectacular views I have ever seen.

It's funny, no matter how much grumbling my legs, back, lungs and heart do on the way up, it all goes away the moment the interesting bit is reached. Suddenly the next climb, even when it's a near-vertical scramble up a rock-filled crevice, looks trivial compared to the far-less-interesting and energy-sucking track that leads up the side of the mountain.

The Talyuberlup walk starts to get interesting about two-thirds of the way up, as the bush gives way to craggy rock formations.  The last section of the walk takes you around the cliffs that form the peak until finally turning up through a tunnel which requires arms and legs to conquer. The view from the north-facing exit to the tunnel can be seen below. This photo was shot with my DSLR, not with my son's drone.

Magog from Talyuberlup, Stirling Range.

Photo by Andy Dolphin.

Talyuberlup is sublime. I'm advised there are better views in the range, but I think this must be one the best views accessible to the average person not particularly skilled in bush walking and climbing.

I'm not sure where we're going next, but I think that view will take some beating.

When I'm fit enough to do it, I hope to take some paint and brushes up with me, and hopefully capture some of that magic in oils.

Spring was here!

It took a while to arrive, but spring did show itself for a few days recently. But, with summer just two weeks away, the grey weather has returned.

I bought myself some new brushes recently. I've been using flat synthetic brushes for the last couple of years but now I'm returning to good old, tried and tested hog bristles. The synthetics started to get a little bit too frustrating as they loose shape fairly quickly, even with careful washing and storage. They also occasionally refused to let go of the paint when making a stroke and I found myself adding more and more turps or medium to try and get things to work properly. There were times where this seriously slowed things down and time is one commodity the plein air painter rarely has enough of.

I might write a bit more about that once I've tamed my new bristles.

The continuing grey weather has given the opportunity to spend a little time in the studio and this week I did something I've rarely done in the past - I painted over some plein air sketches that I felt needed a lift in order to become frame-worthy.

The first one is a painting I did a while ago. It was painted very late in the day and the light faded fast. I used a "pre-mix" approach where almost all the colours are mixed on the palette before any colour is applied to the painting surface.

I mixed a few main colours for the trees - shadows and highlights, warms and cools - two for the hills, a few for the ground and two for the clouds, plus some blues for the sky. This was a first for me and I can see some potential advantages in the method when the light is changing fast, but I'm not sure how often I'll use it. What I generally tend to do is use a mix-and-apply approach in combination with pre-mixes for some specific areas where I want to lock-in colours at a given time.
 

  Porongurup Sheep. 

Plein air sketch. 35x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

I liked the general structure of this one but the major forms were a little fractured and it lacked punch. I particularly wanted the sheep to catch a bit more of the evening sunlight. So I carefully scraped back the dry paint with a new palette knife, to get rid of the biggest ridges, and got to work. Here's the result...

  Porongurup Sheep. 

35x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

My second re-do was first just two weeks ago. It was a perfect afternoon and I hadn't looked at this location before. The distant air was thick with sunlit vapour and almost swallowed the Porongurup Range less than ten kilometres away.

This was the first time I used my new brushes and was very pleased with the process. Here's the painting as it stood when I packed up...

  Takenup Cattle. 

Plein air sketch. 35x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

...and a location shot, of course, for people who like that sort of thing...

And here it is after I scraped back the ridges and painted over it in the studio.

  Takenup Cattle. 

35x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

I feel the end result does a far better job of capturing the glowing atmospheric light that attracted me in the first place. I also reduced some of the mid-ground clutter by deleting what appeared to be a second dam behind the one where the cows are standing.

In both cases, the major change I wanted to make was to add more warmth. I prefer bright, warm paintings but it can be easy to lose vibrancy when you're standing on the side of the road and painting quickly.

Both paintings were done - and re-done - using a three-colour palette.

Rapids: a new plein air challenge

This week I was granted access to private property which the Hay River runs through. There is a section a couple of hundred metres long where the river drops over several granite outcrops. We've had a very wet start to spring so there is plenty of water in the river.

I've never painted rapids plein air before, (I've hardly ever painted them at all), so this was going to be a new challenge. Heck, just carrying all my gear down the steep grassy embankment was going to be a challenge.

I hope to visit here several times in the coming weeks, in order to become familiar with it. I'll begin by attempting exercises, rather than finished paintings. If I can solve one or two problems each time, I should be able to get a decent plein air painting out of it before too long.

Yesterday was the first spring-like spring day we've had this spring. It was warm and sunny with clear blue skies. So, in the afternoon I headed down to the river to see if I could manage a painting. Before I started the walk from the car, I emptied as much stuff as I could from my French easel and backpack.

Here's exercise number one...

  Hay River Rapids. 

Plein air sketch. 30x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

I was looking directly toward the sun and the reflections were intense. I actually wandered around for almost an hour to allow the sun to move across a little, but it was still very bright when I started.

Here's the location shot...

And here's me doing a "long-distance, time-delay selfie" while pretending to paint...because I could...

We had clear skies again this morning so I returned to the same spot to try the same scene in different light. Here's the result...

  Hay River Morning. 

Plein air sketch. 30x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin

This time the scene was more front-lit, with very few shadows. I assumed some shadows would arrive as I painted since I knew, from yesterday, that the scene would be back-lit by afternoon. I focused in a little closer this time.

And, ta daa, the location shot...

There's a lot to consider in a scene like this. There's the various textures of rocks, foliage and water. The water  itself presents multiple challenges - flat water, falling water, clear water, flat foam, frothy foam and reflections. Plus, the water is tea-coloured so it takes on distinctly warm hues as it travels over and around the rocks.

Looking at photos of the place, it seems like it should be fairly easy to translate into paint. Some things are dark, some things are light and others are in between. Even the foam patterns and reflections make sense in a photo. But when you're standing there, paint brush in hand, things never stop moving and every brushstroke requires a good deal of thought.

Once again I find myself wondering why people think painting is good for relaxation. I find it an absolute adrenalin rush, from start to finish.

Shearing shed - plein air oil painting

Today, I experienced, first hand, a warp in the space-time continuum. The world turned just a little bit faster this morning. I'm certain of it.

I arrived on site just before 9am. There was a bit of sunshine, no breeze and no sign of rain. Almost perfect.

I took a photo and did a thumbnail sketch of a shearing shed lit by the morning sun. I composed it using a brand new, handy dandy adjustable viewfinder that I made last weekend. I'll show it to you one day.

By the time I'd finished the sketch, the sun had disappeared behind heavy cloud. I pondered my predicament for almost half an hour. Would the sun return? Did I have enough information in my thumbnail to proceed without the sun? Should I let this one go and just do some scouting around for future subjects?

My thumbnail was fairly detailed. It showed the critical highlights and shadows. I had the subject in front of me, albeit in full shadow, so all I'd need to do is to work out what colour the sunlit areas should be.

I decided to have a go.

Since this was going to be enough of a challenge already, I opted for an "earthy" three-colour palette – ultramarine, burnt sienna and cadmium yellow deep. The burnt sienna would ensure shadow areas tended toward grey-brown rather than purple, and the cad yellow deep would give me all the warmth I needed in the sunlit areas. This selection also ensured the greens would not be too luminous as both ultramarine blue and cad yellow deep lean toward red, the complement of true green.

The sun made a few very short appearances but wasn't much use to me as the painting progressed. The thumbnail, however, proved very useful and I referred to it repeatedly. Here's where things ended up...

Shearing shed. 

Plein air painting. 40x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin
SOLD

Those angled cast shadows, on the fence and the right-hand part of the shed, were derived straight from the thumbnail. Neither was still in that position when the sun did eventually break through. Interestingly, the scene didn't look as appealing with those shadows cast at different angles.

Since I was being "creative" I invented a couple of puddles too. The highlights in the driveway mud were created by wiping back the dark brown paint exposing some of the burnt sienna under-painting.

By the time I packed up, it was about 11:30am. Or so I assumed.

In fact, when I got back in the car to drive home, it was after 1pm. I'd been here for over four hours! I know I slow down when the clouds roll in but four hours? Ouch! Definitely something going on with that space-time continuum thing.

But at least it didn't rain.

You can see in the "must-have" location shot how the sun has come out, now that I've finished, and is now lighting up what used to be the shaded side of the shed...

Early morning - plein air landscape in oil

Third update for the day.

I was up just after 7am and the sky was clear and the sun was just beginning to shed light on things. So I got my gear together and headed out for a little "early-morning" painting.

If you've been following along in the last few weeks, you know what happened next. Yes, the clouds rolled in. But I soldiered on.

I set myself up in a paddock looking towards the abandoned cottage I painted last weekend. I noticed this view yesterday afternoon and realised it would light up nicely in the early morning.

And I was right. Things were exactly as I expected, when the sun broke through the clouds.

I did a quick thumbnail while the sun was shining and committed as much of the scene to memory as I could. It was far too cloudy to risk a big painting so I grabbed a small board and set about doing a sketch.

It was cloudy most of the time, so plenty of memory was required and it rained on me, again, and it was cold (I wore my gloves again and even took a mid-painting warm-up walk) but things progressed pretty well. I spent about an hour and a half on this one, which is a bit longer than usual for a small sketch but things do slow down when the clouds roll in. I finished off the foreground and touched up a few details when I got back to the studio, so add another 15-20 minutes.

Early morning, Narpyn. 

Plein air sketch. 30x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin
SOLD

I used a limited palette of ultramarine, burnt sienna and cadmium yellow deep. The lack of a true red meant that shadow tones and greys would retain an earthy hue rather than leaning toward purple. The burnt sienna under-painting shows through in a few spots too, including the warm glow in the otherwise-grey sky.

And here's the "oops, I packed up and almost forgot to take a location shot so I'll just lean it against this fence" location shot...

So now I've done eight paintings in the last few weeks and have been rained on six of those times. I think that's a record for me. Lucky I don't do watercolours.

I've checked tomorrow's forecast and apparently we're in for some more rain. So I guess I'll venture back outside and see what happens.

Paperbark - plein air landscape in oil

After some fairly dismal weather over the last few days, the sun managed to pop out for a short while yesterday afternoon.

I found a washed out winter creek line on a property not far from home and spent half-an-hour or so wandering around it, taking photos. A gnarled paperbark arching over the creek caught my attention and I decided to grab my easel and see if I could capture something in paint before the rain returned or the sun set.

It did rain on me and the sun did set, but I got something that required very little attention back in the studio, so I'm not sure who won that race.

We'll call it a draw.

Here's the finished plein air oil sketch...

Narpyn paperbark, winter. 

Plein air sketch. 30x25cm oil on board.

© Andy Dolphin
SOLD

As has been the case with almost every painting I've done in the last couple of months, the sun disappeared behind clouds for most of the time I was painting. It was a fairly simple scene so it wasn't to difficult to remember where the highlights should be but I had to be a little inventive with hue and saturation.

And it was cold (by Western Australian standards, not by Moscow standards), it snowed in the nearby Stirling Range in the morning. I actually wore gloves for this one – another "first" for me. And it rained on me half-way through this painting. And it was windy so I had my backpack sitting in my easel tray to stop it blowing away. So relaxing!

I used the painting knife again on this one. I think I'm slowly getting to grips with it. It's amazing how, sometimes, it gives you detail you would never have thought to add with a brush, but which looks like it should be exactly where it is.

And here's the "how do we know you were there?" location shot, taken with a flash because it was pretty dark at this point...

By my count, I've painted at this location seven times now in the last few weeks, and it's rained on me on five of those occasions. Who said painting was relaxing?

Narpyn Creek - plein air oil landscape

We had a bit of sunshine last weekend so, naturally, I headed out to paint.

Here's the underpainting...

I got a fair way through the painting when I looked behind me and saw heavy clouds heading straight for me. Before I had time to throw everything in my back pack and fold up my easel, it was raining. And it got heavier.

I was over 100m from the nearest shelter and had to tread carefully as the paddock is very green, very uneven, very slippery - and uphill all the way. Carrying a French easel with wet painting on-board in such conditions is not the most fun a person can have in a day.

So here's how things looked when I made it to shelter in a nearby shearing shed.

I'd been standing down that valley, off to the right of the photo, when the rain hit. I was somewhat damp by now.


I plonked the almost-finished painting on an easel back in the studio, let it dry, then added a few finishing touches. Here's how it ended up.

Narpyn Creek.  

30x40cm oil on board.
© Andy Dolphin

Looking at it with fresh eyes, I think I need to go back and try again on a day when the sun plans to hang around a while. This one goes in "the pile". It happens.

Cottage - plein air oil painting

I mentioned recently that I've found a new favourite painting spot. It's a farm, less than 10 minutes from home, with a history dating back to the late 1800s.

I've been given permission to do some painting around the property and have spent quite a lot of time out there over the last week and have taken a lot of photos since the weather has been less-than-forgiving and mostly not suited to painting outdoors. So far, I've managed to paint five times, and it's rained on three of those occasions.

On my first visit, I wandered around an old, derelict cottage and was captivated by its sunlit eastern face. I photographed it and studied the photos over the last week. I even did a rough Photoshop sketch of it.

Today we had clear skies again, so I headed out to the farm knowing exactly what I planned to paint. It was time to test my "contemporary impressionism" skills again.

So, without further ado, I bring you "Narpyn Cottage, winter morning"...

Narpyn Cottage, winter morning.
Plein air. 38x35cm oil on board.
© Andy Dolphin

At 38x35cm, this is probably the second-biggest plain air painting I've ever done and, at somewhere between 3.5-4 hours to complete, it took the longest, by far. I don't think it's finished yet, though.

Here's stage 1 - the under-painting...

This is a combination of washing-in and wiping-out. Although the idea is to keep things fairly loose, a lot of important questions are asked at this stage. Where are the major darks? What's warm, what's cool? Is it too centred, too high, too low? Why do people say painting is relaxing? Should I have taken up golf instead? The questions just keep coming – the same questions, every time. Some remain unanswered.

There's 15-30 minutes work here.

And here's stage 2, almost two hours in (I didn't know it had taken that long, but that's what my camera claims)...

By this time, the sun had risen pretty high and shifted across to the left, so the shadows had all changed. It was important to try and stick with my layout and not be tempted by what I was seeing in front of me. By the time I finished, the sun had moved far enough that none of these walls were sunlit.

Ordinarily, a thumbnail sketch is a useful reference for dealing with the changing-shadows problem but, in this case, I'd had the image stuck in my head for a week, so I didn't do a thumbnail.

I used the palette knife quite a bit in this painting - for adding and removing paint. That's a whole new world for me. Until this week, I've usually only used a palette knife for mixing paint or, more often, cleaning my brushes - or, sometimes, deleting sections of paintings, or deleting entire paintings. I still have to tame the knife, but this property will offer me a lot of opportunities.

I was exhausted, mentally, when I got home. So I had some lunch and a nanna nap. Then I got up, had coffee and went back for more before sunset. I didn't have much time so I almost literally threw this one together...

Evening, winter.
Plein air sketch. 34x30cm oil on board.
© Andy Dolphin

There's just less than an hour's work here, and much of that time was spent on the two sheds. Actually, most of it was probably spent on the white shearing shed. So many shades of "white"!

When I put the brushes down, the sun had set and the entire scene was in shadow. But when I turned around, the sky was a brilliant orange-violet. Five minutes later, it was all gone.

It was great to have a day with mostly-clear skies.

Stirling Afternoon - plein air video

My latest plein air landscape sketch video has just been uploaded.

This painting features a view across farmland to the Stirling Range, home to Bluff Knoll – the the highest peak in southern Western Australia.

(Stirling afternoon. Plein air sketch. 30x25cm oil on board. © Andy Dolphin)

It was a very cloudy day but the sun did break through occasionally and light up the view. Days like this can be challenging if the sun spends too much time behind clouds but it peeped out often enough on this occasion to keep me almost sane.

I actually began this painting on a board I'd previously used for a plein air painting that ultimately failed. I had only laid in the foundational wash of that painting when the sun disappeared behind heavy cloud and all semblance of light and shadow vanished with little hope of returning that day. I scraped the paint off the board and wiped it back with a paper towel. This left me with a board already stained with a warm, transparent earthy tone.

NOTE: You can watch the video here on the blog but I'd recommend going to Youtube and viewing it at full size (click the little "cog" symbol and choose 480p if your internet connection can cope).

Thanks again to Kevin MacLeod, who offers hundreds of royalty-free music tracks on his Incompotech website.

Uploading this video generated an interesting copyright dilemma. If that sort of stuff fascinates you, you can read about it here.

You can see my first painting video, Barrow Road, on Youtube too.
Or my second video Winter Light - plein air painting.

Narpyn Afternoon - plein air contemporary impressionism

One of the things that first caught my eye about this local farming property was a collection of old sheds that could just be seen from the road. I walked around part of the property yesterday afternoon and, after taking a lot of photos of all sorts of interesting things, I looked back at the sheds and decided they needed painting.

I rummaged through the collection of primed boards in my car and they were mostly long and thin, suitable for panoramic landscapes, but not really for this subject. The only board I had that came close to a "normal" format was 49cm by 34cm. This is much bigger than I've painted plein air before but it would give me an opportunity to further experiment with the loose-tight style that I'm working on.

I knew the shadows in the scene would shift fairly rapidly so I did a quick thumbnail sketch. This helps to cement the image in my mind, simplifies everything down to the most obvious tones and provides a reference for later, when the light has changed.

The principal focus of this painting was to be one bright white shed half-tucked under a large tree. It shone like a beacon against the very dark green shadows that surrounded it but it soon disappeared into shadow as the sun headed west. The thumbnail sketch, and the image in my memory from doing it, saved the day.

I began with a large, semi-random wash of some warm earth colour. I gently wiped over parts of this with a clean cloth to get rid of almost all the white primer. I didn't want any bright whites competing with the shed.

If I was into abstract painting, I'd probably stop here and call it done.

I developed the wash a little further, giving some attention to where the major dark tones would be.

From here it was just a matter of painstakingly developing the details of the trees and buildings.

Much of the under-painting remained untouched, as was the plan. The sun didn't hide behind clouds this time, so I wasn't tempted to start messing with things not directly related to the main subject area.

Narpyn afternoon. 
Plein air sketch. 49x34cm oil on board. 
© Andy Dolphin

It's a radical departure from my usual style but it's something I've wanted to try for a very long time. I just needed the right subject matter.

You can go to my previous post to see the obligatory plein air location photo.