Study from Book 130, Self-Portrait with Planets and Gibbous Moon, 2008, watercolor, graphite, and pen and ink on Arches paper in bound volume, 4 x 6″. This watercolor study was executed using two colors; Indigo and Raw Umber Violet.

Colors of Black

Around 1980 I abandoned color.

It wasn’t hard for me as I was no extravagant colorist. I grew up cultivating the practice of pen and black ink, keeping pen and fingertips in the medium to explore the topography of the page. The challenge of placing dark irrevocable marks against bright paper was for me; get it right the first time or else. Color seemed superfluous to my practice.

Nevertheless, I pressed my comfort envelope by trying acrylic paint. I muddled along, hating the spring of stretched canvas and the distance the brushes kept me from my surface. No intimacy. And by the time a canvas was prepared, inspiration was lost. I shifted to acrylic paint on paper and felt more at home. But color confused me; too many choices. Slowly, I distilled my work to elemental black and white

Living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania must have stirred some of my fascination with light and dark. I had traded a life in the suburban south for a stint in the urban north and bumped against a different universe. Pittsburgh had a mini-Manhattan setting; an island between rivers that stretched to steep hillsides. By day the topography was dark and rich, from steely to earthy warm; particularly in winter when the snows patterned the earth. But at night the city was transcendental; I felt I was driving through a box of stars, tracing the water’s edge, parking my car at intervals to make studies (see Pittsburgh Night image below). On clear nights the lights of buildings, bridges, and highways reflected off the water, earth, and sky it seemed. Black and white was all I needed.

Move forward twenty years. Who knows why self-imposed limitations are outgrown; the blue sky needs demarcation from brown earth. After trying multiple combinations to make gray I discover one that makes black: Indigo and Raw Umber Violet (see photograph below). This discovery offered reasons to articulate warm and cool. Perhaps this eureka launched me on a path toward more color. Or perhaps I’m on my way to deeper blacks. I’m still on the trail.

(Below) Photograph of watercolors Indigo (left) and Raw Umber Violet (right) mixing to near-black.

Charles Ritchie, Pittsburgh Night Series: Number 1, c. 1978, 23 x 30, black and white acrylic paint with acrylic matte medium and lithographic crayon on Fabriano paper, uncatalogued.

Charles Ritchie, Study after Starry Night by Jean-François Millet, 27 April 2008, watercolor and graphite on Arches paper in bound volume, sheet size: 4 x 6″

Millet’s Falling Star

The Painting:
What a thrill to finally see Jean-François Millet’s painting Starry Night. I had known it previously only through a poor black and white reproduction. When I discovered the work hanging with the In the Forest of Fontainebleau exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, Washington, I was stunned to see its boiling darkness.

But the more I looked at the subject the more something seemed out of place. In Millet’s picture, we stand in a dark road with fields on either side. Trees are silhouetted against a glowing horizon that bleeds upward into a dark sky of accurately observed constellations. To the right, the belt and sword Orion are prominent and Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky follows at upper left. What troubled me is that another star stands just to the right of Orion’s belt, challenging Sirius. No bright star is in this location nor do bright planets tread there. What a terrible inaccuracy for Millet, an artist who prides himself on truth to observation.

In the left center are two streaks of falling stars; one with a fiery head and another, a vaporous streak. It suddenly became clear to me, that by reading a right to left sequence, we see three stages of a single falling star: the bright flash of the meteor’s encounter with earth’s atmosphere (the misplaced star in question), the flaming rock’s descent (at center), and the vaporized trail still illuminated (at left). When we consider the image this way; the metaphor is clarified; individuals are no more than a single falling star in the night. The dark road where we stand is transient and solitary.

Copying Technique:
To make my copy I stood in front of the actual painting penciling out the composition in my journal and recording an inventory of the colors I saw. Returning to the studio I painted the image in watercolor based on my notes and a reproduction that I printed from the Yale University Art Gallery web site; an image that carried far more detail than any catalogue reproduction I could find. I began my watercolor with light application of three loosely blended yellows: Winsor, Indian, and Naples, the three give a warm underpainting for the stars and the glowing horizon. I then begin to work with darker colors moving from light to dark, never wetting the pinpoints where the stars are located. This allows the white of the paper to spark through in these areas. Other colors I used in the general order I introduced them: Cerulean Blue, Lapis Lazuli, Burnt Sienna, Ultramarine Blue, Winsor Yellow/Indigo (a color that I mix to get a transparent, versatile green), Alizarin Crimson, Prussian Blue, Raw Umber Violet, and Indigo. By the way, one should take this color study with a grain of salt. Millet’s painting needs to be cleaned. Who knows what will emerge when the old varnish is stripped away.

Other Notes:
It is not known for certain whether Van Gogh saw Millet’s painting before he painted his well-known masterpiece. Millet prefigured; he was a force from earlier in the 19th century and his works influenced Vincent. Both shared an interest in rendering subjects from everyday life with deep compassion.

Serendipity placed this painting in my path considering I’ve been involved with my current, unfinished Night with Orion drawing. I admit the influence of Millet’s painting on me, however, I don’t remember being conscious that Orion and Canis Major (Sirius is the prominent star of the latter constellation) were part of Millet’s Starry Night.

Much credit goes to the wonderful article, Millet’s Shooting Stars by Martin Beech, Royal Astronomical Society, Canada, 1988. Beech’s insightful study fueled some of my questioning. Beech, however suggests that these are several meteors belonging to the Orionids, an October shower emanating from the Orion region of the sky (actually the radiant is well above the core of Orion, see here). I believe that because Orion is leaning to the right in Millet’s Starry Night, the constellation is falling into the sunset (as it does in the mid-Northern latitudes). With plenty of foliage visible, I would say this is late spring when Orion sets just after the sun.

Charles Ritchie, Study after Starry Night by Jean-François Millet (first state), 24 April 2008, watercolor and graphite on Arches paper in bound volume, sheet size: 4 x 6″

Link to Jean-François Millet (French, 1814–1875), Starry Night (Nuit Étoilée), c. 1855-1867, oil on canvas, 25 3/4 x 32″, Yale University Art Gallery.

Charles Ritchie, two Polaroid photographs of a star magnolia, (both images taken approximately 1:15 pm, 11 April 2000)

The Star Magnolia

As daffodils flooded the front yard, forsythia glowed, and the star magnolia exploded white across the street, I sat at my window dazed. We had just put our cat to sleep. Cancer took him; far too young. The day’s beauty heightened the sadness. April is the cruelest month.

I gazed into the star magnolia and suddenly I realized my loss would always be tied to this flowering. Nothing new about this kind of association. A year after Lincoln died, Walt Whitman remembered his hero in a poem, When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d. Likewise for me, the significance of blossoms had changed.

Looking down at my worktable, I saw my tiny drawing, Self-Portrait with Blossoming Star Magnolia; one of my problem children; a drawing that I had been working on for years. I’ve been trotting it out for the few weeks of peak blossoms and then putting it away, always dissatisfied; perennially hopeful for a recovery during next year’s session.

I’ve worked and reworked the tiny sheet; erased it, scrubbed the paper with large flat, synthetic bristle brushes pulling out the watercolor (see images below). I’ve redrawn and repainted, and then scrubbed and erased again. I’m not sure what is so hard about this piece. Perhaps it is finding the right twilight atmosphere. Perhaps it is coaxing nuances of color that don’t overpower. Perhaps it is the composition.

During the current session, I removed two subjects from the foreground of the drawing: a postcard and a dried orange. Scrubbed them away, and replaced them with an image of one of my own larger drawings; another of my trouble children: Night with Orion. This felt better. The new shape punctured the window’s rectangle and pulled the grid of panes into the border. I liked the minimal articulation of the depicted drawing; I used watercolor to mimic the graphite of the original. This new gray panel or wall seemed right. I also liked the idea of inserting a troubled drawing into another troubled drawing; trouble mirroring trouble. And through the window, the depiction of the star magnolia now represented trouble on another plane for me.

These kinds of personal associations drive my drawing, but the viewer doesn’t need to know the connections to appreciate the work. I believe if I respond to my intuition and feelings, work intensely, and stay honest, there’s a good chance something will be there for an audience.

The drawing, I feel, is complete now; consummated in meditation and loss. In one of my favorite short stories The Haunted House by Virginia Woolf, a couple re-lives through remembrances found in the various settings of a house; personal reflections lead them to their treasure and essence.

(above left) Charles Ritchie, Self-Portrait with Blossoming Star Magnolia (work in progress) 7 February 2008.
(above right) Self-Portrait with Blossoming Star Magnolia (work completed) 10 April 2008.
both: watercolor, graphite, and gouache on Fabriano paper, sheet/image: 4 x 3″, collection of the artist

For Pokey.

(above) Photograph of the artist’s drawing and writing on clear Mylar featuring a pen and ink study after Self-Portrait with Night: Side Panels I (above, at left), and handwritten texts in Rapidograph ink (above, at right) and in sumi ink (lower, at right). The drawings on Mylar will be photographically transfered to a printing plate to begin the print.

Part 1: Drawing test on Mylar

Jim Stroud of Center Street Studio, printer and publisher, has invited me to work on a new print project. Jim’s wife, artist Janine Wong suggested that I make a variation on my accordion journal/drawings. These are folded drawings that I created in 1986 and 1987. See image below. I’m envisioning my new print will evolve as series of studies based around the drawings that I am currently creating. The print will be printed and then folded, accordion-style at the end of the project. Each panel of the accordion-fold will be 4 x 6 inches, the page size of my current journals.

First we will do some tests to find an effective way to transfer my drawing/writing to the printing plate. I will work on clear Mylar that accepts pen and ink and send it to Jim. Jim will place the Mylar face down on a photographically-sensitized printing plate, expose the plate to a strong light, and then develop the plate. Hopefully the writing will be transferred to the plate in clear, precise detail. Because the Mylar was reversed, the writing will re-reverse when printed and read correctly.

Using my 4×0 Rapidograph pen on the Mylar, the ink seemed too thin. I doubt that it would be dark enough block the light which is the key to a solid transfer to the printing plate. I found some sumi ink that is much darker and flows beautifully from the tiny point of my dip pen; but the sumi is not waterproof. The slightest moisture could re-wet the ink. I will use the non-waterproof ink and take precautions to keep the Mylar dry. I’ve also done a copy of a drawing that I’m currently working on, Self-Portrait with Night: Side Panels I . I’ll mail the Mylars to Jim for him to transfer to the plate. Although the drawing and writing will eventually be printed on the same sheet, each will go on a different printing plate because they require different handling in the development process. (To be continued)

Charles Ritchie, Accordion Drawing, 1986, watercolor, graphite, and pen and ink on Arches paper, approx. 4 x 30″ (uncatalogued). The forthcoming print project will be based on the format of this series of drawings.

Self-Portrait with Night XI: Graphite, first state of drawing as it looked on 26 March 2007.
Graphite on Fabriano paper, sheet size: 5 5/8 x 12″

My studio hours begin well before sunrise. While sitting at my window in late winter, I can see Antares, the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius, rise ahead of the sun. Deep red in color, its procession toward the zenith means that spring is coming. When Antares becomes centered in my morning window and finally obscured by foliage I put away my current group of drawings and I won’t pick them up again until the leafless landscape reappears in late November. Self-Portrait with Night XI: Graphite (link shows second state of drawing as it looked on 24 January 2008) is among my current investigations. The drawing was begun in December 2006, was put away for the summer of 2007 and returned to my focus last fall. The images seen above and below represent stages of the drawing almost a year apart. I’m content with slow growth. In this drawing I am learning how to use graphite as a tonal medium rather than as an outline for watercolor as I have used it in the past. Building graphite in layers using a eraser coated in graphite to smear and burnish is unlike anything I have done before. I may finish the work this season or I could put it away for another year. Drawing in cycles asks me to lose something and forget all of the things I was thinking about it. When I rediscover winter drawings after six months of summer I return with new experience. Seeing a drawing after an extended break is a real spark. Like the surprise of finding Antares in the window once again.

Self-Portrait with Night XI: Graphite, third state of drawing as it looked on 22 February 2008. Graphite on Fabriano paper, sheet size: 5 5/8 x 12″

Two Figures, 2007, graphite on wove paper in ring-bound sketchbook

I’m usually tired by Thursday night but I go to figure drawing group anyway. It’s probably the same reason some people won’t miss a physical workout; I feel better after three hours of exercising eyes, hands, and brain. Part of the energy spills from the drawing games I play: no eraser allowed, get the complete figure down (including hands and feet) no matter the length of the pose, draw without my reading glasses, don’t look at the paper while drawing, draw the subject from memory after the pose is over. These are just a few of the ever-changing boundaries I set and reset as I dig with a 6B graphite stick into my sketchpad. But, as with all satisfying games, there’s a serious side. I am practicing my scales, training the eye and hand to synchronize, and developing my ability to structure and proportion intuitively. One of my favorite masters of the figure, Auguste Rodin, often preferred to draw his subject nude, then after selecting the pose, he redrew the subject clothed. He sought to understand the underpinnings before he attempted the mantle. The body is the world laid bare. And though the nude is foreign to my prints and drawings, I see it as a winter tree before my window that soon will be covered with summer leaves.

(above) Second and final state. Copy after J.M.W. Turner from a reproduction of the watercolor The Burning of the Houses of Parliament, from Old Palace Yard, with Westminster Abbey, watercolor and graphite on Arches paper in bound volume.

J.M.W. Turner: Yellow/Red/Blue

As I stood in front of J.M.W. Turner’s watercolors at the recent National Gallery of Art exhibition, it seemed to me that he basically relies on yellow, red, and blue. These primary colors are organized into zones: yellow for light sources, red for land and figures, and blue for skies and water. Details within these areas are generally layered light to dark, starting with yellows, adding reds, and finishing with blues. By overlapping these few colors the artist can create any nuance of hue that is needed. Light penetrates the transparent color, bounces off the underlying paper support and back into the viewer’s eyes. Think of the brilliance of stained glass as opposed to light off a painted wall. Turner’s message is clear - retain transparency in color and the light remains crystalline. “Light is the lion that comes down to drink”, said Wallace Stevens. Turner offers a luminous pool.

Link to Wallace Stevens poem, The Glass of Water.

(above) First state showing first washes of yellow overlaid with washes of red. Copy after J.M.W. Turner from a reproduction of the watercolor The Burning of the Houses of Parliament, from Old Palace Yard, with Westminster Abbey, watercolor and graphite on Arches paper in bound volume.

Link to an image of the original watercolor in the collection of the Tate Gallery, London.

I’ve always enjoyed drawing in front of works of art. Certainly seeing the artist’s actual creation versus a reproduction has much to do with it. For example, Seurat’s drawings are much looser than the camera translates them and seeing those gestures is vital when making pen and ink sketches like those above. I enjoy testing my ability to distill an image, drawing without looking down at my journal as much as possible. My focus is eye/hand synchrony. Working in a crowded gallery can actually create a useful tension; forcing me to work faster and search for barest essentials. Stepping out of the way of other viewers also forces me to study works from different vantage points, to draw while moving, and work from a subject that can be frequently eclipsed; all useful challenges. I try not to think too much about page layout; thus my series of studies joins a landscape sketch of my own composition (upper left).