I feel there is too much of the modern in the above scene to truly inspire an artist to create a realistic representation of the tableau; however, it is one of the privileges of the artist, that he or she has licence to remove both in the mind’s eye and on the canvas, extraneous details which detract from the scene. Although the scene is full of modern clutter: plastic camping chairs, the throb of Napier engines, the cussing of inexpert crews launching their boats, the minimally clad people, the essential elements of a Renoir riverside scene are there; the dappled sunlight and shade, the relaxed pose of the sunbathers, the impressionistic aerial perspective in the distant shore line, and of course, the river itself with its red-blues and silver overtones. It is possible to tune all of this out, to replace modern with timeless, and to rearrange slightly the composition of the trees, the architecture and the placement of the subjects. Of course, all of this is possible with Photoshop and other programs, but to what end? For me, the joy of painting and drawing goes at least a short distance beyond the merely representational, it is the joy of watching at some later time, the same scene flowing from brush or pen!
We have now spent several hours on a number of occasions, by the river here at Varennes, a town which lies 11km downriver of Boucherville. It is reached by a delightful cycle path, for the most part passing through rural landscapes and wild habitat, a stone’s throw from the St Lawrence. The town itself is very picturesque and historic, vying with our own for the beauty of its church, postcard cottages and quiet back lanes- and its identity, completely different to that of Montréal. What inspired me to write about this town, indeed, to link it with art at all? Perhaps the sight of a group of artists who had spent the best part of the day by the water, sketching the trees and the landscapes. It refreshed my memories of a delightful summer afternoon at home in Peterborough, England, during which I produced a canvas which was extremely simple, but wonderfully evocative- a decaying brick wall, clad in variegated ivy. From a technical point of view, it was an appalling composition- merely a flat surface, with the whole canvas covered in the leaves, with here and there a glimpse of the red Fletton bricks to add contrast- but the fact it was painted alla prima and with a limited number of oil colours (this being shortly before I adopted acrylic) made it a very special canvas. Doubly poignant, I do not know if the canvas was scrapped, if it went to my parents, or if it is still languishing in my old loft back in Stamford, UK… the moral of the story no doubt being to keep a journal in pictures of all my artwork, drawings and paintings. I would love to go painting by the riverside, but a mistrust of oils, my experience with the associated inconvenience, and a lack of equipment precludes this. I content myself with taking pictures and making intensive sketches so as to be able to produce an acceptable studio painting. All this said, I believe there is nothing to equal putting colour to canvas or paper under the same lighting in which the subject is viewed: it adds immediacy, and captures the image in a way that millions of photographs could not.
The five minute sketch above illustrates many things, and probably triggers assumptions with those who see it. Given that it took a mere five minutes to complete, I am satisfied with the amount of information it gives me. I have more than enough material to work with for an attractive painting, and for practice, I shall be producing some watercolour postcards of the scene.
Musing on art leads me to believe that painting and drawing are like languages; they can never be “perfected” inasmuch as perfection is subjective. One could describe a scene in grammatically perfect language, accurately recording each and every detail with forensic precision- but the soul of the scene would be missing. The beauty of art, whether poetry, prose, drawing, sculpture, or painting- is that it allows a much deeper connection with the essence of existence- a reality greater than reality itself. The catholic taste for art is that it has to be perfectly representational- a painting has to be precise in every colour, a drawing should show no signs of correction, but should represent a technical diagram of a scene. Going a little deeper, it is the “inaccurate” use of colour, the adoption of pointillism or even the vaporous effects of Turner, which make the paintings sing to something deeper within, and the effect is often immediate. This is not to say that popular art is wrong or in any way uncultured, but so often I, as an artist, find myself wanting the approbation that comes with the merely representational!
Well, enough talk. I shall be updating my blog with the progress of a “finished” painting based loosely on the scenes above- and for those interested, the painting will be up for sale at the end of the summer.
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