David Kearn, Mosaic one, 30"x30", Acrylic on canvas

Painters are always interested in how the eye sees things, how images resolve up close and at distance.

In this painting, I am creating “two images in one”: a pleasing abstract and at a distance, a self-portrait. Up close, I wanted it to look painted. Like a mosaic, the surface predominates, effectively overriding resolution of image.  At a distance, it’s easy to see the image (try squinting to see what I mean) and once seen, as with most illusions, it then becomes more difficult to “not see”.

The work is actually a “portrait of a portrait” and is based on a pastel of mine from a few years ago. “Painting from paintings” is becoming a theme of mine. But more of that later.

David Kearn, self portrait (detail), pastel on blue Canson paper

David Kearn, detail from "Lanie", Oil on canvas

Colour changes everything. It takes paintings to giddy heights or sends them to the depths. With little in between.

A woodsman, after spending a few days with Tom Thomson, said that he would never see colour the same way again. And what portrait artist has ever regretted taking a risk with some underlying greens, blues and purples in skin tones?

Up close, colour invariably predominates and this also holds true at a distance. Pretend you’re looking at a Monet, up close – very close: you can see his brush-strokes (and brush-hairs too), lumps of paint, certainly, and perhaps also some forms and values (tho’ a little less evident), but it’s undeniably colour which asserts – you can’t miss it: a brilliant combination of subtlety, juxtaposition and vibrancy. Now, imagine walking to the back of that gallery, then right through the walls and beyond. It’s still his colour that you see: and as the image fades into a spec in the distance, it’s the last thing that you see. Monet’s colour.

Something clicked when I really started using colour: my paintings became those colours, whether bold, primary and solid, or just a hint to convey a feeling or alter an emphasis. Colour changes everything.

David Kearn, "Lanie", Oil on canvas

P.S.: I’m getting out my colour palette for a one-day workshop: Saturday, 4 May: The Mixing Palette and the Magic of Colour.

Have you tried using your “wrong” hand to draw and paint? I’ve been carefully weaning myself off of the habit of calling it “wrong”. There’s nothing wrong about it. For me it’s now the “other” hand.

Many find drawing with the other hand an invaluable exercise. When starting out,  folks are often quite resistant to the idea. It feels strange and uncomfortable. Herein lies it’s value and the results are usually great. I won’t go into all that right-brain, left-brain theory (which keeps changing anyway) but one thing is clear to me: using the other hand breaks the learned routines between eye, brain and hand and forces a slower, more observed approach. That’s why it works: drawing is fundamentally about observation.

I can think of many drawing students where this approach has had little short of spectacular results. An interesting example comes from one of my portrait painting classes, when Astrid  broke her collar bone. (Well, she did not actually break it during the class you understand, as “Expressive Portraits” is not really up there on the list of extreme sports.) She was naturally quite disappointed, so I suggested she might come to class and use her other hand. After the go-ahead from her doctor, back she came and created a wonderful pièce de résistance.

Astrid and her other-handed masterpiece

I use the technique on occasion: when something might not be working out. I’ll pick up a brush and daub away with my other hand. I invariably get something good out of it. So next time someone says “on the other hand”, take them up on it!

Timeless, acrylic, 20'' x 16" with the original life study

Like many artists, from time to time I re-work images into more “finished” works. My process normally starts with a watercolour. I often find there is more to be said and a different medium, scale and motif inspire me to proceed. Sometimes the idea will sit around for years until I feel the urge. The funny thing is, my original work then seems the better for it too. More vibrant and poignant having become the base for the later work.

My most ambitious effort is certainly last year’s “18 pieces of me”, where I re-worked a 14″ x 11″ watercolour self portrait into a 6′ x 3′, 18-panel acrylic. Here it is,  plus a few of my other favorite reworks.

"18 pieces of me" acrylic, 6' x 3' on 18 panels and the reference watercolour study

Disquiet, acrylic, 30" x 40" and the original life study

Formation, acrylic, 36" x 24" and the original life study

March Moonlight, oil, 24" x 30" and the original watercolour

Should you like to know how any one of my paintings started, just let me know and I’ll include them in a future blog!

This little plein air watercolour is almost abstract and that's what I like. Maybe it will be the basis for a 2013 painting!

Perhaps it’s just a phase, but I’ve been working mostly on paper recently. During term time, teaching keeps me hopping and it’s easier to spend an hour on a study than winding up to work on larger projects.

With studies, I’m never too sure whether the work is finished or not: I keep going back to them, and, as often as not, end up pleased with the results. In itself, that’s a measure of completeness. Unless there is an imperative, things are best left alone or they lose their fresh, on the spot feel, that “sur le vif” quality.

With this life study I started with a loose wash, drawing and painting into the still damp paper.

This image has "devolved" from a more formal painting I did a couple of years ago. It's acrylic on paper and I've been enjoying working with this medium recently.

This is a demonstration watercolour that I thought about continuing on with, but I like just it the way it is!