Charles Ritchie, Daffodils with Astronomical Chart, 1996 working proof, mezzotint on Rives BFK paper, image: 11 1/2 x 12″.

Working in mezzotint is the exact opposite of watercolor in the sense that I am starting with a completely black ground and creating the lighter areas. Watercolor, my favorite drawing medium, is worked from the white page to the darks.

Mezzotint: Part 1

Daffodils with Astronomical Chart was created using a printmaking process called mezzotint. A mezzotint plate is pitted with microscopic depressions that can hold printing ink. Using an arced knife with a finely-serrated edge called a rocker; a copper plate’s surface is roughened uniformly so that if inked, it would print black (see image below). Keeping in mind that I am creating highlights on a dark ground, I smooth out the depressions to make grays and whites. The smoother the surface, the less ink it will catch, and the lighter it will print. A completely smooth area cannot hold ink and will print white.

I use special tools to accomplish the smoothing; a scalpel can shave away layers of metal and a burnisher can press down the roughened surface and polish it. The plates are worked in the my studio, but at various times during the process, I may stop work and ship the plate to my collaborator, printer/publisher James Stroud of Center Street Studio in Milton, Massachusetts in order to see my progress. Stroud rubs ink into the plate, removes excess ink with a cloth, and places the plate on the printing press bed under a dampened sheet of paper. When pressed together, the ink transfers to the paper to produce a test print called a proof. The proof is returned to me for approval. When the work is determined to be complete, a limited group of like impressions called an edition is printed and made available; or published. (To be continued)

Charles Ritchie, Daffodils with Astronomical Chart, 1996 edition print, mezzotint on Rives BFK paper, image: 11 1/2 x 12″

A copper plate being roughened with a mezzotint rocker.

Daffodils with Astronomical Chart is among the 65 works on view in the exhibition From the Inside Looking Out: The Journals, Drawings and Prints of Charles Ritchie, on view at The Gregg Museum of Art & Design, North Carolina State University, Raleigh from 21 August to 8 October 2008.

Note: This print was based on my earlier drawing from 1993-1995.

The Bend, 1984, watercolor, graphite, and pen and ink on Fabriano paper, 3 5/8 x 14 7/8″.

My journals are filled with watercolor studies that explore options for images I am creating outside of my books. For example, during the summer and fall of 1984, one of the independent works I developed was The Bend (above), an image of a road set in a long format composition. Books 30 and 31 (below) contain studies that establish compositional details as well as offer various solutions for the borders of that work. While a long rectangle with a gently arched top was selected for the final composition, the books show that other configurations were proposed; including a broad box shape with no arch. I was looking for a way to create visual interest by maximizing tension between the long, wavelike shape of the road and the arched top of the composition’s border. One of the wonderful things about keeping a journal is being able to go back and trace the development of an idea.

Book 30, Summer 1984, sheet: 4 1/4 x 6″, watercolor graphite, and pen and ink on wove paper in bound red linen volume

Book 31, Fall 1984, sheet: 4 1/4 x 6″, watercolor graphite, and pen and ink on wove paper in bound red linen volume

The Bend and the two journals presented here are among the 65 works on view in the exhibition From the Inside Looking Out: The Journals, Drawings and Prints of Charles Ritchie, on view at The Gregg Museum of Art & Design, North Carolina State University, Raleigh from 21 August to 8 October 2008.

Charles Ritchie, Interior with Stack of Journals, work in progress, second state, watercolor and graphite on Fabriano paper, 4 x 6″.

Risk: Turning Pages, Part 2

When is a work of art complete? When is it overworked? When is the artist signing off prematurely; too easily satisfied? These are difficult questions that permeate the core of painting.

My online journal entry on 1 June examined the abandoned watercolor, Interior with Stack of Journals and my plans to reinvestigate the image on another sheet. Through the summer I have continued work on the second attempt (see above), taking advantage of the period when the early evening light enters the west window of my studio. As the season comes to an end, and the specific lighting on my subject drifts away, I find myself pleased with the work. It has reached a plateau, as many drawings do; very close to way I had envisioned it, with some surprising details evolving; the mirror on the desk reflecting a bit of interior, for instance. However, the big improvement is that the brightness of the landscape has remained; far preferable to the overworked landscape in the previous version.

A plateau can be dangerous, though. One might easily convince oneself the work is done. At any point along the creation of an image there are times of balance and imbalance. I consider the present manifestation of Interior with Stack of Journals (above) a balanced composition, but not yet finished. My major dissatisfaction is that I want the interior to be darker in very specific places; more like my most recent preparatory journal sketch (Book 130, 11 May 2008). To accomplish this I will apply wash; not too dark not too light. If done just right it will increase contrast with the light from the window while integrating details and further unifying the composition.

Time is short, though. I prefer to work in front of my subject so I must make my move in the next few weeks or leave the project until next May when the same lighting situation returns. I don’t like to work purely from memory in a case like this one. The visual reinforcement of the subject cultivates courage to take the necessary risk. I have found that the best response to the present situation is to put the work away for a while, get involved in many other drawing and printmaking projects. In the next month, I will forget the problem and then surprise myself when I finally make my move to finish.

One might recall the well-known sequence of photographs in which Henri Matisse documented his Large Reclining Nude (final state seen here) through twenty-two states during a six month period in 1935. I see numerous places Matisse might have stopped his work that could be seen as more successful than the one he chose as a culmination. Even the best artists are challenged by the “when is it finished” question. It’s also important to note that certain media facilitate continual change; Matisse used oil paint for his Large Reclining Nude, a very forgiving medium. Watercolor is different. One cannot scrape out with ease or paint over without damaging the luminosity. Watercolor ups the ante. To continue working my drawing carries the risk of overworking it. I could be faced with starting over again.

In 1994, I took a risk with my drawing Daffodils with Astronomical Chart. Tearing off the upper section of the sheet, I painted a final layer of darkness, completing the work with a move that I think improved it significantly. (To be continued)

Charles Ritchie, Daffodils with Astronomical Chart, (left) early state c. April 1993, (right) 1995, drawing completed, watercolor, graphite and pen and ink on Fabriano paper, 4 11/16 x 5 1/2″, note: left image is taken from a slide; color and tone are inaccurate. The finished drawing is in the collection of the Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio.

My Bookhouse. Two volumes from a set of six, The Latch Key, volume four (left) with cover by Joseph Cheneweth and The Treasure Chest, volume six (right) with cover by N.C Wyeth.

My Bookhouse

I treasure early memories of visiting my grandparents’ house in North Carolina where before bedtime we could read from My Bookhouse. These six gorgeous volumes (two are pictured above), published in the 1920’s, are filled with all the children’s stories you can think of, plus some, and embellished with works by Howard Pyle, N. C. Wyeth, and many others who forged the golden age of American illustration. My Bookhouse probably represents my first recollection of art as art.

How I love these images. They always surprise. You can never tell where they will be when you turn the page. They are imaginatively configured; often shaped irregularly, stretching across the top, or bottom, or up the side margins. Their use of color is savvy too; just a few hues blossom into alchemy greater than the parts with maximum expressive effect. And the dense, sparkly, letterpress type was an invigorator. It commanded your eyes to move through pages like waves. Even the lesser known artists could be fabulous. As an example, look at the Sugar Plum Tree by Eugene Field, illustrated by Donn P. Crane (see below). Crane is not a well known figure, but these images embody all that I mention above and have stuck with me for many, many years. With my deep interest in dreams, it is surely no accident my favorite poem beckoned to the garden of shut-eye town and a land of visions.

When I look at the pages of my journals (see below), I can’t help but think that in my own way I have been trying to create a Bookhouse of my own. I covet the element of surprise in My Bookhouse, the use of limited color to maximum effect, and dense regiments of words cultivated as expressive elements. And certainly the words “book” and “house” resonate off of my artistic trajectory. I believe that some of our earliest worldly encounters are the most powerful and lasting. My Bookhouse was fundamental for me.

My Bookhouse, In the Nursery, volume one, pp. 160-161, The Sugar Plum Tree, by Eugene Field, illustrated by Donn P. Crane. Edited by Olive Beaupre Miller, Published by The Bookhouse for Children, Chicago and Toronto, 1925 edition.

Charles Ritchie, Book 122, Jourrnal entries for 2-3 August 2002 including several studies for works in the Self-Portrait with Night series, watercolor, graphite, and pen and ink on Arches paper, 4 x 12″.

Footnote: Donn P. Crane went on to illustrate many story and textbooks through the early and mid-20th century, even contributing to the Dick and Jane series that taught a generation of Americans to read in the 1950s.