Winter Shadows, 30 x 40, oil on linen

How about a winter painting post for this second day of summer? This painting, which was in the Paint & Pixels exhibition at The Museum at Indiana University of PA, was recently selected by the museum board for their permanent collection. It is a good example of alla prima (done all at once) painting. It was done this past February in Indiana County. I started it mid-morning and worked on it until mid-afternoon. During that time the shadows shifted a lot so I had to decide at some point where they needed to live. I liked the idea of having to visually "step over" the near shadows to get to the thick tree and the deep forest in the background. The sun was so brilliant that I had a terrible headache by the time I finished. The entire painting process took about five continuous hours and that includes an 8 x 10 inch study done first. No further work was done to it in my studio.

Ghosted Sign, 24 x 30, oil on canvas, finished

Ghosted Sign, 24 x 30, oil on canvas

Students have often asked how my process evolves. Here is an attempt to show nine steps, start to finish. (I must say it is hard to concentrate on a painting and then stop to take photos at regular intervals!) I often look at something for years until I see it in a particular light and it triggers an idea for a painting. That's what happened last week when I drove by this old brick building. The wall facing west was illuminated by warm light and I could almost read the hand painted sign. There are a lot of these "ghosted signs" here in Pittsburgh. Sometimes you can read them, but most are just faded images. What were they and what are they still trying to say? To me they are grim reminders of the weathering effect time has on all things, especially us.

Brunot's Island, 34 x 64, oil on canvas

This is a piece I've been working on for a few weeks. It is from a photo I took from Mt. Washington. Describing how colors change over distance is something that has always fascinated me. In this painting I'm contrasting a dense dark, shadowed foreground with a cool softer background. The Ohio River splits as it goes around Brunot's Island and makes its way toward McKees Rocks and then on to Sewickley and eventually to the mighty Mississippi. I wanted to show the extreme distance that can be seen from this vantage point.

White Hot Steel, 30 x 40, oil on linen

Last year I visited this steel making facility. It is only 8 blocks from my studio here in Pittsburgh and I didn't even know it existed! It is tucked away in an industrial area close to the river. The management was great, allowing photography which I have used for reference. For obvious safety reasons it would be impossible to paint inside the plant. This painting above, done just this week, is about the extreme heat in the foundry. Unless you are standing there it is almost impossible to describe the experience. The white hot molten steel flies out everywhere and illuminates all surfaces with blazing warm color. I've tried to create a painting that shows how it felt. It is not like anything you see outdoors. That is why painting a scene like this is such a nice contrast to working from the cool light of day. I also like the idea of documenting the steel making heritage of this city– an era that is quickly slipping away.

Lexi, 8x10, oil on panel

Last week Lexi laid down in the shade exactly when I was looking for a subject to paint. It was almost too good to be true. Would she really pose like this for an hour or longer? Usually a squirrel or a runner or something causes her to move. So I decided to start with her and see how far I could get. The background could be painted later if necessary. But to my astonishment she stayed in this position for about 90 minutes–long enough for me to do this sketch. She is such a sweet girl.

Mr. May Mouse, 6 x 6 inches, oil on panel

This little fellow was too clever to be trapped alive. Believe me, I tried. The internet is full of ideas to capture a mouse unharmed and the hardware stores offer no-kill traps. Unfortunately, he was causing so much trouble in the kitchen that my tree hugging tendencies quickly disappeared and my farm boy roots took over. It was the old fashioned mouse trap that did the trick. After thinking about this guy, I decided to honor his death with a painting. I wanted it to be quiet and austere, almost monochromatic. Sorry Mr. May Mouse, the dark chocolate was the last straw.