Much ado about next to nothing

 

One of the pleasures of gardening in my little yard is unearthing old bits of stuff --  rusted hardware, a 1913 penny once (the house dates to 1912), and random oddities, like this guardian on the windowsill.  Add these to summer camp, along with readers' reactions, and anything can happen.

 

With this week's experiment, I offer a creativity salute to Friend P and her 8- and 10-year old grandsons.  Sharing news on summer activities, she mentioned that her friend (me) was also enjoying summer camp and that she ran it just for herself. (!)  The younger boy replied, "Cool!  Is she teaching herself something new?" (This is a family that sets the bar high).

 

Well, young A's comment was invigorating, and my thoughts turned to trying something I'd heard about somewhere – an artist who paints en plein air with his own little rig.  Since the days of the Impressionists, "en plein air" has evolved to become an enormous industry that markets supplies, equipment, and courses for painting outside.  The artist I dimly remembered paints inside little hand-sized tins, with paper affixed to the inside of the top, and paints available in the base.  Yes.  Really.

 

Packrat that I am, I have a few treasured tins from olden times, but I won't sacrifice them to Summer Camp since they're no longer made.

 

 I searched high and  low for tinned products at nearby stores and eventually found this:

 

The throat lozenges it contained would knock your socks off and were so distasteful, they've been consigned to the compost pile, but the tin did the trick.

 

 

Gluing a piece of good watercolour paper to the inside was the easy part.  Then I considered my watercolour paints – all old-timers – from which I'd need to make a small selection.  Should I use the familiar dry pans or the tube colours?  These were literally incomprehensible to me when I received a set in Grade 3 from my kind aunt then living in Germany.  (Yes, the Dutch Masters box is another treasured antique.) 

 

I found that 5 half-pans would fit the box, so here's my set-up:

 

Now, on to my rarely used watercolour brushes, which are different from acrylic brushes.  And at that moment, seeing them spread out, I decided not just to play in the studio or my back yard  – but to take an actual field trip!  What a concept – and very far from my zone of comfort.

 

This inspiration recalled a little travelling art pack I'd once won in a draw – perfect for the important job of protecting the brushes in transit.  Here it is, showing just some of its clever pockets …and a very dubious folding water container (which I deemed useless):

 

Water was essential, of course, and that also required some research since I don't routinely travel with a water bottle.  Back to the grocery store…and how about some Smart Water?  That could only help, couldn't it?

 

I strategized about nearby parks – minimal transit, possible scenery, a place to sit and spread gear – and then set off early to avoid the crowds.  (The real plein air guys are sometimes besieged by on-lookers).  Clark Park, just six blocks away, filled the bill – but on my walk there, I was almost waylaid by a pile of bricks!

 

Taking photos satisfied my brick fixation, and I moved on to my treed destination.

 

That day's hazy skies obscured the mountain view through the trees so I homed in on a tree grouping, across from a perfectly positioned bench.

 

 

My gear had travelled safely – and note my distinctive cap.  This summer camp, run solely for the proprietor, does not require distinctive T-shirts to identify its campers.

 

 With the tiniest brush, I set to work.  Here's an early stage when I saw that my limited colour selection wasn't necessarily the best.

 

As I puttered a little bit more, a woman came along with her dog – one of those adorable curly-haired types that you want to cuddle.  He didn't want a cuddle but he did hope for treats – and the woman quickly reined him in.  Then she said, "You're an artist!!! And you're painting!!"  She was completely entranced with the set-up and planned to tell her daughter about it.  (Daughter, I'd guess, cannot be older than 10).

 

I sat for a few minutes, letting the final version dry, hoping the grandsons would find "Cool!" a field trip that I took just for myself.

 

Over a cool drink at home, I reviewed the outing with satisfaction.  I didn't spill. I didn't get lost.  I learned things.  I didn't leave my identifier cap behind.  I had a nice encounter.  Then, properly hydrated, I moved on in my to-do list to sort a pile of papers and magazines that had been sitting around since early summer. 

 

And there I saw it – the source of my vague memory about an artist who painted in little boxes!!

 

This guy really knows what he's doing!! – and by the way, he orders his boxes in volume from Amazon.

Will I do the same?  Not a chance.  Let's remember that small things can take on an expansive life of their own.  Here's an unexpected Goji flower from a twig that rooted from last year and is now sending out robust 2-3 foot branches.  The grandfather of those clever boys has issued a caution about galloping Gojis, and I promise to keep things under control – whether vibrant plants or wild ideas.

 

How much longer till Happy Hour?

 

 

I have more than one summer's ideas up my sleeve – although it will be hard to beat "Partial Eclipse (Partial Tondo)" which even earned admiration from my furnace repairman!  I've resolved though, that while I'm experimenting with different media and techniques, I don't want to lose touch with my greatest interest, the human face and figure.

 

I decided to work with a master portrait as I experiment with different approaches – and just the right candidate showed up in a decades-old sketchbook.  (I have a vast hoard of those and am trying to glean them….somehow).  Here's the lucky candidate, the famous though world-weary barista in "The Bar at the Folies-Bergere" by famous 19th century painter Edouard Manet.

 

The assignment:  First, make use of two supplies I haven't used before – a retarder (keeps acrylic paint from drying too fast) and a paper palette.  (Late report: Neither of these turned out to be helpful to me, in the way I'm used to working.)

 

Then, work in a "reductive" or "subtractive" manner to pull out the portrait from a very splashy first layer.

 

Hmm.  This looked so much better in a video I once watched.  Moving on a little:

 

I'm now at the point of adding paint in the usual way – and this model is not easy, with that very slight tilt to her head, the wan expression, the indecipherable chin-line.  This is as far as I'll take it:

 

On to the next experiment.  Now I'll do a simple black and white study, accepting the challenge to think in reverse, using white/light grey for the darks of the model and black/light grey for the lights.  This took a lot of concentration and I didn't always succeed.  What's more, it's downright weird.

 

Accepting that I'd probably make it even weirder, I turned to an electric colour combination and finished the session with this:

 

Then, along came the day assigned to bundling trash and recycling.  I put aside another thin styrofoam tray that eventually, with others of its ilk, will have to be delivered to a special depot.  But wait!  Why not try something that's been in the back of my mind for a long time? – see how this kind of tray would work as a base for printmaking.

 

And I'll  start with the most exacting way to print multiples – engraving.  ("Multiple" is a printmaking term -- I'm not using the word in its current lazy sense.)  As shown here, engravings are created by incising a metal sheet with a metal tool, applying and then wiping away the ink – which remains in the incised lines.  Paper is laid on the metal, and both are passed through a press – and the results can be phenomenally detailed and gorgeous.  

 

But:-- this isn't likely to work with styrofoam, is it? 

 

First state, as they say in printmaking lingo:

 

Uh-oh.  Too much paint.

 

Final state:

 

All right.  I got that out of my system.  Now it's time for a last extravaganza suggested by that sketchbook note from the early 1980s.  That's when I'd first compared the scene at the Folies-Bergere to our local Topanga Café  – which sadly burned down in 2018.

 

JT and I used to go there for an occasional Saturday night dinner, and all those years ago, I had imagined morphing Manet with Topanga.  (That dark-eyed brunette and the guy with the balding head….?  No, not us.)

 

First, a quick mental warm-up (otherwise known as A Walk Down Memory Lane).  The Topanga was famous for its colouring cards, with the best ones framed and displayed in a rotating exhibit.

 

I could have asked – grown-ups used the crayons, too – but never got up the nerve. 

 

Well, here we go.

 

And here's as final as this could get, three hours before my end-of-month deadline.

 

I'll probably fiddle a bit more with this painting, but tomorrow Summer Camp moves on to our next act.  Two guarantees:  Happy Hour prevails, almost any time of day and, two, there is one thing we will not do at summer camp, now or ever:--

 

 

Things are different this year

 

This time last year, we were enjoying Summer Camp in the Adirondacks.  This handsome dude, drawn with homemade charcoal in my back yard, Roswell Morse Shurtleff, savoured those cool summer mornings as much as I did.

 

This year, Summer Camp is more likely to take place locally – or maybe not.  We'll see.  The only defined curriculum is to play experimentally.  I have boxes of little-used art supplies, long lists of titles to suggest future works, and equally long lists of "study projects" suggested by books I've read.  So…away we go.

 

For instance, I've had a hankering to try the tondo format  – you know: Round, as in "rotund." For a while now, I've collected various "rounds" that could be used as templates.

 

 

Then, at the end of 2023's camp, I thought I had the perfect HUGE disc for a starter project – unearthed in the back of my yard by the fence workman.  Wow!

 

Alas, as I reconstructed the garden last September, I realized this was the base of my compost bin which had become dislodged when moved for fence construction.  But it didn't matter that it needed to be put back where it belonged.   "Tondo" was still rolling along as first up for Summer Camp 2024.

 

I researched some of the famous – and less famous – classical tondo paintings.  Caravaggio's "Medusa" always shows up on the lists. 

 

Here's my quick take on it – sans snakes!!  Just think of curly hair.

 

Remember Sebastiaen Vrancx, one of my "motley crew" of Commedia enablers?

 

What a crazy guy.  Here, in tondo, he's taken on "De kat de bel annbinden" or – "Belling the cat."

 

As Aesop's fable suggests, there would be great risks in trying to bell a cat.  Maybe Pieter Brueghel's version, with the bell-handler in armored PPE, might have been a model for Vrancx?  

 

And here's my simpler Vrancx spin-off:

 

With my studies completed, I turned to a rusty treasure I found in a nearby laneway – a flat part-circle that was waiting to become a tondo, 12 inches in one-time diameter.

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I can't believe I missed taking photos of the earliest stages of my project, but it hadn't taken long to realize that I didn't have a suitable round mount.  Then, weird things happened quickly when I painted the hard-board base with layers of old paints. Belatedly, I realized the pigment was separating from the acrylic medium, and this latter swirled and soaked through the layers in unpredictable ways.

 

Surprise is preferred to perfection though, and here's my final version of "Partial Eclipse (Partial Tondo)" Summer Camp Series, copyright 2024.

 

 

 Yes, things are different this year but the object is the same:-- Splash and have fun.  Take a look.

 

 

Packed and ready to go!

 

 

It's just around the corner now, Summer Camp 2024!  Let's review the list:--  I didn't have a pre-camp physical check-up, but I had my last dental work done.  I never gave a thought to sewing little name labels in my clothes – but after all, at summer camp, you might want to invent a new name for yourself.  I suppose my down-at-heels walking shoes could be repaired, but when you have a full box of crayons, what else do you really need?

 

School is out for the little guy next door, and there have been hints of blue sky.  It can only get better.

 

 

There was only one last thing to do – the final piece in the "Minutiae" series, and it popped right out at me two weeks ago.  I'd been invited out to dinner and went looking for a bottle of wine for my hosts.  I know nothing about wine selection but am semi-famous for choosing quirky labels.  I could barely believe it when a HARLEQUIN popped out at me!

 

YES! But first I'd paint it.  I'd had the bottle for three days, planned the layout, and started to paint when I suddenly realized……..this was not Harlequin.

 

It was The Fool from the Tarot Deck that originated in the Middle Ages – by golly, I'll bet those travelling Commedia actors passed their time with these playing cards!

 

Remember my new hero Gino Severini?  From his two Harlequins and wine bottle, you can see why I'd jumped quickly to the wrong identification.

 

Never mind.  Here's the last in the Minutiae series:  "One for the Road" (copyright 2024)

 

On to summer camp!  If it's half as much fun as the one pictured below, where I spent two weeks each in the summers of 1952-54, it will be memorable.  Can you spot my friend A and me?  Not likely – we tended to hang out around the edges, not in this kind of mob scene.

 

No way! We did “Empty Frames” last summer!

My plan to spot minutiae on my birthday excursion to Capilano Suspension Bridge was almost hijacked. I'd barely passed through the turnstile when I saw this new touristy attraction – a big frame for photo-taking.

 

The funny thing is – it reminded me of how much I've missed doing people in movement.  And there were a whole lot of people on the bridge.

 

At day's end, I wondered if "mob scene" might morph into "minutiae."  You see, there had been a funny episode, almost at mid-span. Of course, photos were snapping everywhere (not by me – I was holding onto the railing with both hands).  A couple who were about five feet ahead of me were determined to get several photos of the young woman in various poses sitting on the bridge deck. 

 

Of course, this held up walkers in both directions but these two were undeterred, even as the loudspeaker repeatedly announced, "Please consider others. Take photos quickly and do not block bridge traffic."  Evidently, the two were visiting from the Land of It's-All-About-Me.

 

Eventually, they moved on – and for the next day or two, I tried to immortalize them.  These studies took a while and before long, I realized that with all those people, it could take all summer to develop a painting.

 

 

Well, I would have to look elsewhere for a Minutiae topic.  Conveniently, that day's mail brought a pamphlet from The Dance Centre  – the source of many of my movement studies.

 

Now wait a minute.  Doesn't this print layout suggest……….a frame?!? 

 

There was no option but to give in – and at least satisfy my cravings to get people in motion. Here's the quick finale for "About to Be Framed – Minutiae Series" (copyright 2024).

 

Summer Camp will be here before we know it.  In anticipation, I'm getting my cohort moved outside.  In my childhood, I secretly longed for a garden gnome – are these a little more…. grown-up?