Charles Ritchie, Interior/Exterior, 1987-1989, watercolor, graphite, and pen and ink on Fabriano paper, sheet/image: 8 1/8” x 29 3/8”, collection of the artist.  Note the oak tree just to the left of center in the middle ground and compare it with the same tree of 20 years later seen in the image below.

Charles Ritchie, Self-Portrait with Night: Side Panels I, 2006-2008, watercolor and graphite on Fabriano paper, sheet/image: 5 3/4 x 17 1/4″.  Both of the works pictured above are in the exhibition From the Inside Looking Out: Charles Ritchie on view at Gallery Joe, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania through 20 December 2008.

One Place / Any Place

I sat down for the first time at my window nearly 25 years ago and looked out to the row of suburban houses.

Since that time I’ve watched people move into those houses and transfer away.  I’ve watched an oak grow from a modest sapling into a towering tree. I’ve seen the girths of three magnificent tulip poplar trees broaden. I’ve had dogwoods come and go; young redbuds block my view and then grow tall beyond my window frame.  I’ve seen houses painted, screened porches become additions, and yards become forests, lawns manicured.  Chimneys and roofs repaired.  Leaves fill the yards and daffodils rise.  Sunrise flood the neighborhood and sunset wash it red, winter noon burn out detail and summer diffuse it.  I’ve watched my face grow older incrementally night after night, reflected in the window; superimposed over blackness, lamps, and nebulae.  A favorite book of mine is The Enigma of Arrival by V.S. Naipaul in which the author illuminates incremental changes that underpin what appears to be a static universe.  It is all a matter of attention.

A friend of mine, writer Peter Turchi, has paralleled my enthusiasms with that of naturalist E.O. Wilson whose activities began as a boy when he became fascinated by fire ants. Wilson has noted that a biologist could make a career out of studying the life forms at the base of a single tree. Yes, like that hypothetical biologist, I’ve chosen my tree. But Pete has also likened my engagement to a private astronomy, mapping out a personal pantheon of galaxies and constellations; engaging the local with the distant and reflecting inwardly on those places I strain to collect in my lens.

In graduate school, inventor and architect Buckminster Fuller visited and articulated a message I’ve held close since that evening, “live your life as an experiment.”  That has been my goal in my work.  What is it to sit in a room and look at the world from virtually the same vantage point and create a body of work over a lifetime?  At the core of this postulate is a meditative relationship with the world and I find comfort and freedom in such a focused inquiry.

There’s nothing inherently exceptional about the view I have, my little window could be any place.  It is equivalent to an infinite number of views.  Such thoughts bring me to a game I occasionally play.  Stop right where I am, right now:

What am I not seeing that could be a new path to the waterfall?
[Thanks to Raymond Carver for the use of his title.]

Self-Portrait with Planets II, state two, drawing in progress 7 August 2008, watercolor and graphite on Fabriano paper, 6 x 4″

Day Dreams

I’ve become interested in daydreams; flares of imagination that punctuate waking hours. We all do it; drift a bit and the mind is somewhere else. A few days ago I was dozing and an image floated up in my mind, three people were sitting in a car with a woman who was pointing to holes in her bare feet. I blinked. There was such matter-of-fact quality to the image, no sense of pain or alarm. What could it mean? A few days later I was sitting talking to a friend at the table and as we moved our heads, I felt I was seeing front and side views of his head simultaneously; he seemed cross-eyed for a split second. Not exactly a daydream, but a phenomenon representative of the slips in reality I like to note.

Perhaps my sustained recording and study of dreams has cultivated my awareness of such jags of the mind. Kin to dreams, I can’t help but scrutinize them in the same way, imagining some underlying truth about myself or my situation being revealed to me in their arcane symbols. In previous online entries I’ve talked about my method of recording my dreams as a means of self-scrutiny (see entry for 25 December 2007). I am convinced these daydream images are a similar nudge from my subconscious to look at myself from an alternate, previously unnoticed perspective.

I have begun to note these moments in my journal and I’m particularly encouraged by the momentum my writing has gained from incorporating these observations. The annotations have also begun to embellish my series of drawings called Pages (three states of one of the Pages are used as example above and below). Executed on sheets of paper the size of leaves in my journal, the Pages combine image and inscription tuning into my stream of consciousness. I especially prize dreams, daydreams, and slips of reality. As I make my notes and drawings I am often waking in the early morning studio, my script is often packed with such fleeting phenomena.

But the inscriptions also have a visual effect in the Pages series. Beginning as pencil notations, they parallel the drawing as it develops. As the graphite inscriptions fill the page, they are generally obliterated in the image-making process and as more space is needed for writing. I trace the mental process that attends the making of the drawing as well as scrutinize the act of drawing itself. To bring the drawing to a close, I usually pick a particularly pungent dream from the many I’ve had over the period that I worked on the piece. I transcribe it, returning to see if I can uncover further associations as I ink it on the page.

I like the fact that my journals and drawings continually change and evolve and I see this expansion of subject for my writing as another step along the way.

Self-Portrait with Planets II, state three, drawing in progress 15 October 2008, watercolor and graphite on Fabriano paper, 6 x 4″

Self-Portrait with Planets II, state four, drawing in progress 31 October 2008, watercolor and graphite on Fabriano paper, 6 x 4″

The new print project is complete. We have a final proof that will be used as the model for printing the editions. Jim Stroud, printer and producer for the project, shifted to a bone black printing ink and found that much more detail could be coaxed from the printing plates without sacrificing any of the dark value and presence of the black ink. The images are now far more reflective of my articulations in the copper printing surface. The housing, designed by Janine Wong is fantastic. It has the look of my journals but leaps to a different level with the deep, indigo colored housing and the collapsible, accordion-fold design.

Photograph of Janine Wong in her studio in Milton, Massachusetts as she refines the binding and the housing for the accordion print project now renamed April 2008.

The book consists of 12 accordion fold pages that include 13 images with text extracted from my journal, Book 130. I’ve retitled the volume April 2008 to indicate the pages of my journal encompassed in the printed transcription. The images are a fresh reinvestigation of the way I draw in my books, restudying the compositions in a wide range of intaglio processes. I was pushed to the edge of my knowledge and abilities while making this volume. It stretched me into new territory.

Janine’s design for the housing is very smart. It has a raw linen cover, like my journals do, but is protected by a linen covered indigo slip case.

The accordion fold allows a variety of configurations in which the pages can be arranged and read. Note the Title Page and Colophon are inside the raw linen cover.

The text of the Colophon reads:

“This accordion fold volume is extracted from Book 130 of the artist’s journals.

The copper plates were produced in whiteground and spitbite aquatint, mezzotint, etching and drypoint and executed at both Center Street Studio, Milton, Massachusetts and the artist’s studio in Silver Spring, Maryland between 13 May and 15 September 2008.

Printed by James Stroud assisted by James Ovid Mustin III on Hahnemühle paper at Center Street Studio.

Housing for the volume was designed and constructed by Janine Wong and Iris Grimm.

Thanks to Jenny Ritchie.

There are one hundred edition copies, five artist’s proofs, four Center Street Studio proofs, a printer’s proof, and one BAT.”

Inquires about April 2008 can be directed to Center Street Studio. A deep bow of thanks to Jim and Janine.

Trial Proofs for the Accordion Print Project, etching and aquatint on Hahnemühle paper, six sheets: each approximately 4 x 12″. These pages will eventually be linked horizontally. Upper left is Page 1, lower right is Page 12.

New Print Project Part 7

Proofs for the Accordion Print Project have been returned to me from Center Street Studio. They look excellent. Selections from a few of the 12 pages are included below and an overview of the sheets is shown above. I wrote notes on those proofs indicating to printer Jim Stroud where ink should be wiped selectively from the plates to bring out highlights. Those proofs with notes, seen as details below, were returned to Jim. After another proofing session, Jim has refined the printing a sent me a set of proofs (above) that have been torn out and folded in the configurations that will eventually be linked to form the print. Janine Wong is constructing a case that will hold the assembled volume.  That will be available soon for review. After looking at the proofs for a few days in the studio, I have decided that the plate work is complete.  Our aim is to have an assembled set of final edition prints available for review at the fine art book fair that Jim will be traveling to in late October. (To be continued).

Working Proof for Page 1

Working Proof for Page 2

Working Proof for Page 11

Photograph of studio table with plate 1 for the Accordion Print Project. Tools seen in the foreground include 1/2″ wide, and 1 1/2″ wide mezzotint rockers, scalpels, burnisher and dental tools. Image areas of the printing plate have been roughened and smoothed with these tools to hold varying amounts of ink when the plate is printed. Earlier impressions from the print project are visible (upper left) as is Book 130, the journal which contains the images that are being adapted. A mirror compensates for the reversal that occurs in the printing process.

New Print Project Part 6

When I am in the midst of a project it sometimes takes time to find my next step. I try to pull back a bit, be patient, and listen to the work.

Returning home in July after producing the printing plates for my Accordion Fold Print project at Center Street Studio, I hung the proofs on my studio walls and watched images out of the corner of my eye. I also kept the plates available on my tabletop for study. As time went on, I realized how much I liked the whiteground technique I had explored while working at the Center Street shop (see online journal entry for 23 July 2008). Without having much experience in the painting of whiteground, I had used it boldly, and while the effect I had achieved was a bit ragged and a little too loose at times, the overall feel was energetic and not far from the vigorous watercolor sketching that goes on in my journals. Finding a printmaking equivalent for my watercolor journal sketches seems like an intriguing goal.

However, as I kept looking at the trial prints over time, I realized there were several things that were not sitting well with me. First, I would have wanted more detail in the images. I had tried to articulate elements that had not materialized with the painted whiteground. Secondly, I wanted richer grays; the whiteground had tended toward strong contrasts, blacks and whites. The absence of detail and range of grays was due to my inexperience with the technique; the next time I work with whiteground at Jim’s shop I’ll try to stretching my abilities in this direction. But more than anything else, the blacks in the current proofs were not as rich and dark as I wanted. Mezzotint (see online journal entry for 24 August 2008), the intaglio process with which I have the most experience, can give a deeper, richer black than the black produced with the whiteground. I decided that the solution was to go back into the plates and augment them with mezzotint, working them by hand using a variety of tools, including mezzotint rockers, a scalpel, a burnisher, and small dental tools that works well for smoothing the low metal relief of the surface (see image above). The hand tools allow me to roughen and smooth the metal in selected areas, reworking and enriching surfaces that were previously cut by acid. With these tools I am able to bring out detail, create mid-tones (grays), and make the blacks denser.

The key to reworking is a ½ inch wide mezzotint rocker that I have become fairly adept at using. It allows me to do some very selective roughening of the copper plate. I can pit deep, parallel, serrated lines into the plate’s surface. These lines will hold a lot of velvety printing ink. I think of the areas I’m roughening not so much as fields of darkness, but more like areas of crosshatching. I use the mezzotint rocker to introduce hatching tones that define form; essentially drawing with the mezzotint tool.

I’ve spent more than a month rocking and burnishing (see photo above) and now it’s time to send the plates back to Jim at Center Street to be printed. I’ve been lookng at the physical surface of the plate and imagining what will translate, but you never know exactly what is present until it is inked and printed. In printmaking, one gives up control and allows other forces to introduce unpredictable changes. These forces can improve a work in a way that cannot be premeditated; or can turn a work into a disaster. Printmaking always carries risks and I’ve grown to love it for that. (To be continued)

Photograph of the installation of the exhibition From the Inside Looking Out: The Journals, Drawings and Prints of Charles Ritchie at the Gregg Musuem of Art & Design, North Carolina State University, Raleigh. Photograph by Matthew Gay.

Pictures at an Exhibition

Stepping into one’s solo exhibition can be revealing; especially if work that’s been out of mind for years is included. It’s strange enough seeing one’s art framed and under glass, or presented in display cases; a situation that denies the whole tactile experience of creating the work as well as displacing it from the studio in which it grew. The unfamiliar, freshly-painted white room, the rarefied lighting, and the uncluttered, surprising juxtaposition of works serves to make everything feel alien: what a great place for an artist to be.

As I spent time going through my exhibition in at North Carolina State University, several things struck me. I enjoyed reviewing some early drawings that haven’t been shown before. The group includes Window with Moon and Star and Worktable with Open Book, drawings from 1983. Both works feature the same subject, the table and window of an earlier studio. The tight pen drawing of the former was made by thinning inks and building up layers of line with a very fine point pen. This very precise drawing process took months. Compared with Worktable with Open Book, a much larger piece created using large brushes in loose watercolor wash on a watercolor block; this drawing was executed in probably a half hour. I’m fascinated that I was working with such variant methods at the same time. I think the tension of swinging between loose and tight approaches has been one of the elements that has kept painting interesting for me. I still vascillate between these poles when I work. I should also note that Window with Moon and Star seems to me to be a reflection on the 19th century British artists that I was vitally interested in the time, William Blake, Edward Calvert, and Samuel Palmer. All of whom became more familiar to me during the summer of 1984 on our honeymoon in England.

Another early work, The Bend, completed in the fall of 1984, (see my online journal entry for 17 August 2008), seemed to be a reflection on the period in which it was created. The year was a turning point of my life; I married, I began the move to my present studio, and my outside work shifted towards a curatorial career. Looking at the drawing, I felt as if the picture was a long jump; a leap across the dark space between the lights on the left and right of the composition. This kind of metaphor never occurs to me while I am working, but such associations emerge in hind sight. Perhaps I subconsciously scout such visual metaphors when I choose my subjects.

One of the discoveries I made looking at the show was that during the mid-to-late 1990s I was not drawing so much. There are few works from that period in this exhibition. During this period I began working with Jim Stroud at Center Street Studio making prints. Also at this time, I experimented with oil paint on gessoed board, an investigation that was never fully successful. During this diversion, I discovered that I like the versatility of working with paper and the quick drying time of watercolor.

Regarding the installation of the show; the journals seem particularly out of context when displayed in exhibitions. My books are utilitarian and when limited to a spread of two pages open in a display case they lose their functionality and serial richness. They are meant to be held in the hands and experienced as a sequence of pages. Of course, the alternative of giving up security within such a public setting seems far less palatable. I have found no better solution.

A final note; memories of the creation of the work can affect how one remembers it; such as remembering it bigger or smaller than it actually is. Ones hopes and dreams of what one wanted to achieve with with a work can also jade memory. Reacting to the inaccuracy of these mental images can often times spark the trajectory for a new journey when one steps back to contemplate in the setting of an exhibition.

Other installation photographs are below. Deepest thanks to the Gregg Museum of Art & Design at North Carolina State University, Raleigh for their beautiful presentation and particular thanks to Matthew Gay who documented the show with these images.

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.

Charles Ritchie, two uncatalogued paintings, (left) Paper Whites, 1990-1992, 5 x 3 7/8″, (right) Roses, 1992, 5 3/8 x 3 7/8″, oil on gessoed mat board.

Painting Again

Previous experience can inform the new unexpectedly. While working at Center Street Studio print workshop, I was exploring a new medium, whiteground (see entry for 23 July 2008). At first I felt very comfortable using the material; it reminded me of working up paint with a brush and water as I do with watercolor. My collaborator, Jim Stroud had also eased me into the project by providing the whiteground in a small, porcelain dish like the ones I use with watercolor in my studio.

However, the as I painted on the copper plate with the whiteground its unique handling properties emerged. Every brush stroke seemed to be amplified. Streaks and marks left by the brush were extremely hard to soften and blend. Part of the reason was the lack of friction on the very slick copper on which I was painting. Jim helped improve the adhesion properties by adding more soap to the painting medium. Still, it was very hard to get an even tone until I finally discovered that by building an evenly mixed puddle of paint and flooding it in a shallow layer, it would dry as an even tone. I also discovered that by putting such a mixture over previously applied textured areas could soften and unify the tones.

As I was working I suddenly recalled a series of small paintings I did using white oil paint, linseed oil, and turpentine painted on a dark ground. (see Roses and Paper Whites, images above). I did practically the same thing, build are reservoir of color and flood it onto the ground to make the paint spread evenly. I must have drawn on this experience subconsciously during my attempts to solve this whiteground application problem. Perhaps the reason that they are similar is that linseed oil is an agent common to both processes.

In hind sight, the week making prints at Center Street Studio was spent solving the technical problem of paint application. It is interesting that my expectations of exploring a slowed down application of tone never transpired (see entry for 13 July 2008). Shifting speed was not the solution; altering the medium was. Perhaps the lesson is that having expectations is neither good nor bad but what is most important is being responsive to the process; being prepared for what happens and using experience to problem solve.

One of my mantras is from The Carpet Crawlers by Genesis, its chorus is a chiming reminder for me:

“You’ve got to get in to get out”.

Detail showing two images from Plate 2 of the Accordion Fold Print painted in whiteground on copper plate. Images are approximately 3 1/2″ tall. The copper surface shows under the painted whiteground. Black hardground surrounds the images and is touched into the images in several places. Both grounds will block the acid when the plate is immersed in an acid bath to cut recessions for holding ink when printing.

Photograph of whiteground in porcelain dish. This material is painted on the printing plate and to block corrosion in selected areas.