“A contemporary who saw Leonardo working on the Last Supper describes how he stayed on the scaffolding from dawn to dusk without putting down his brush, forgetting to eat and drink, painting all the time. Then for two, three, or four days he would not touch his work and yet be staying there, sometimes an hour, sometimes two hours a day wrapped in contemplation. Similarly, Pontormo would set out to work and go away in the evening ‘without having done anything all day but standing lost in thought,’ as Vasari informs us.”
Source: Rudolf Wittkower, “Individualism in Art.” Journal of the History of Ideas 22 (1961), p. 293.
“wrapped in contemplation.” Can we say the same for the “art” of Jackson Pollack who at times simply poured paint on the canvas? Or the “artist” who painted a completely white canvas? His work is hanging in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
Leonardo was a genius who excelled at music, poetry, engineering, but, in my view, mostly in oil painting, which he called “the noblest form of art.” As an active and somewhat accomplished portraitist, the designing of a painting is fraught with choice of pose, color, line, and mood — when successful, the painting “looks back at you.”
Leonardo also wrote a monograph on painting with many invaluable suggestions, one of which was to use a mirror to check on the painting’s accuracy. One is easily carried away by the painting that takes shape, only to find a critical error, often a maddeningly elusive one, in the composition. Then it’s scrape off the paint, or paint it over (without blurring the colors).
The Last Supper is a group portrait, and Leonardo agonized over the appearance of Christ. It is uncertain if he even completed Jesus’ face, as his “new” technique of oil over fresco came apart — we don’t know what the original looked like. Group portraits, of which Rembrandt was the master, are hardest of all. When one paints a landscape, usually the viewer has never seen it before. But not with a person. Which makes portraiture the most difficult, and rewarding, object of the brush and palette.
s/r “As an active and somewhat accomplished portraitist, I have found …”
The following is a quote from Norman Rockwell on his own process of painting, something that you, Dr. Hicks, and your readers may appreciate:
The Idea–Backbone of Story-Telling Pictures
In a picture which tells a story, the idea itself probably is the most important element of the entire illustration. Certainly if the idea is not good and if it does not interest and intrigue people, any other good qualities which the picture may possess will be lost because they will not be seen. It is an utter waste of effort to paint a beautiful, story-telling picture unless it is based on a good central idea — one which can be readily understood. I will now explain just how I develop a magazine cover idea. Whether you follow my method or not is up to you. I suggest that you try it at the start. Later you will probably develop a method of your own. In all my years as an illustrator, sudden inspiration has never been the source of a single idea. I have had to “beat my brains out” for each one. And each time I go through the same preliminaries.
I know of no painless process for giving birth to a picture idea. When I must produce one, I retire to a quiet room with a supply of cheap paper and sharp pencils. My brain is going to take a beating — and knows it.
First, I invariably draw a lamp post. I have found that I must start somewhere and if I did not start with the lamp post or something else, I would spend the day looking at the blank paper. So I start with hope and prayer — and a lamp post.
Next I draw a drunken sailor clinging to my lamp post. Now I have an object and a person. Then I give my brain a little exercise. Through association of ideas, I am reminded that sailors must do their own mending, so I put that down. That reminds me of a mother sewing up Junior’s trousers with Junior in them, and I draw that.
At last I am on my way, but where I will end I never know. I keep hoping and praying for a knockout idea. And I keep on making sketches. Usually the first session gets me nowhere. Most authors, composers, playwrights and other creative people seem to have the same experience. Somehow you must condition your brain to think creatively. So I generally end this first session of two hours or more completely discouraged. I feel that I never will develop another idea as long as I live.
Then, perhaps next day, I go at it again. By this time my poor brain seems to be beaten into shape to develop ideas. I keep making sketches which no one but me could understand. I throw them down beside me as I work but I do not discard them. Often, by going over these sketches later, one of them will suggest something which escaped me at the time but which may be the very germ of the idea I am seeking.
One thing I know. When I do get a really good idea — the idea — I will have no doubt about it. When that time comes bells ring and lights flash! Then I get all excited. I do not want to try other ideas. I want to try out this one on my wife, my neighbors and — if they like it — I want to get to work on this one — the bell ringer.
How I Make A Picture by Norman Rockwell, p. 28; Chp 1, “Getting the Picture Idea”
I will also add, from memory, having read that book by Mr. Rockwell some years ago, that after he found THE IDEA for his painting, he would then gather or create reference photos. I think that he kept file folders of such reference material (something that Andrew Loomis did and recommended, if I remember correctly), saved over the years. Mr. Rockwell would use his neighbors, who volunteered to help him to help him in creating photo references, and he would, with great animation, direct them to take poses that he was looking for and act the part, inventively creating the poses he needed reference material for, such as, for example, having a young boy stand on a stool, bowing over in mimic of the action of someone diving into a pool of water. He needed the pose, not the full context (although I would think that he would be concerned that the lighting be consistent with his ultimate needs, the lighting of the final painting.)
Having the idea for his painting and his reference material, he would then create charcoal drawings, or at least one full-sized charcoal drawing (the same size as his intended painting) solving all of the problems of drawing, values, composition, etc.
After all this preliminary work, he would then paint several small oil studies, not concerned with detail, but only with trying different color schemes or harmonies so that he could decide on the colors that he would be using in his final painting.
Only after solving all such problems would he then paint his final painting.
And it was the idea, as he described it in the previous quote, that was the heart of his work, that motivated him and carried him through the process and effort of working out or solving all the problems involved in creating his final painting.
Lastly, something I should have included previously, Mr. Rockwell, although he did rely on photographic references, was not a slave to the photographs he used, something that is obvious if one can see examples of his photo references and the charcoal drawings or paintings he did using them. The photographs gave him the essentials, and he would make changes as he needed.
Enjoyed this Rockwell anecdote, John. Thanks.
You’re very welcome, Dr. Hicks. Thank you as well.
I’ve always found Mr. Rockwell’s quote on The Idea memorable and a revealing insight to how he worked. He was an intelligent master artist, and that quote reveals a keen understanding of the creative process, a means of generating ideas or inspiration as opposed to waiting for lightning to strike.
I mentioned his charcoal drawings, done full-sized (as the final painting). These were finished, highly detailed (similar to his final paintings), and as I said his means of solving all of the drawing, value and compositional problems.
I don’t find an example readily online, but they would have looked like his paintings were they photographed in black and white.
As to his use of photographs, here is one showing what I meant when I said that he was not a slave to them:
http://stuartngbooks.com/images/detailed/28/62141_rockwell_rockwell_on_rockwell_2.jpg
This one too:
http://www.lmnop.com.au/2011/04/out-about-norman-rockwell-behind-the-camera/
And here is what I meant in saying that he was animated in directing his models for his photographs:
http://stuartngbooks.com/images/detailed/28/62141_rockwell_rockwell_on_rockwell_.jpg
Years ago I visited a small museum of his work in the town that he had lived in (Massachusetts, I believe). The elderly curator was quite proud to point out the young girl in a painting for which she posed when she was only a young girl.
Thanks to Mr. Shepard for this grist for the mill. Readers should note that all great artists do many preparatory sketches. Michelangelo once said, “You would not think me a genius if you knew how many sketches it took to make this…” [David, Moses, whatever statue] But I should like to dispel the idea that art should tell a story. It’s a quaint possibility, and Normal Rockwell is a first rate technician, but the “boy and his dog” thematic material goes against the general grain of great art, which seizes a moment and freezes it in eternity. The Mona Lisa, the Raphael portraits, Rembrandt’s self portraits, even de la Croix — all the basic thrust of European painters. Nonetheless, a “story” is involved in most paintings, or a hidden “story”. To explore this field, try the Sister Wendy Becket series on YouTube.
Norman Rockwell and his contemporaries, like N.C. Wyeth and Howard Pyle [who did the pirate-on-shore pictures for which Johnny Depp should be grateful] are perhaps the last breath of normal American art, that, significantly, is “illustrators’ art”. I think the novels of Robert Louis Stevenson, Fenimore Cooper, Jules Verne, Dumas and Mark Twain well-served by these men. But, respectfully, I should add that beating one’s brains to come up with a story for high-flung painting is too much like the cartoonist, trying to fill a panel. One might claim much American art left the canvas for the funny pages!