Speaking of Art Blog

If someone asks me what my style of art is, I tell them it’s hyperrealism.  I used to reply that it is photorealism, but not anymore.  There really is a difference.  Photorealism is where the artist is trying to make their 2-D artistic creation look just like a photograph, complete with its washed-out whites and its flat looking black hole darks.  I don’t do that.  My goal as a hyperrealist is to imitate the real deal, in my case nature/animals/birds/butterflies, and render them in as close a manner as possible to mirror reality.  Thus, my reference photo is just a starting point.  I correct the photo’s shortcomings as I work on the painting.  Details and creating a sense of depth are very important.

Recently I heard a couple of artists discussing hyper- and photorealistic art.  They claimed that they don’t see the point of either one and that the resulting artwork leaves them feeling cold with no connection to the artist’s soul at all.  OK, fair enough.  I sometimes can’t connect at all to an abstract piece of artwork, so I understand their sentiment.  They are allowed to feel that way.  But that doesn’t mean my work lacks soul.  It simply means that they can’t connect with it.

So, let’s take a look at Wall Walker, a pastel painting of mine. First, here is my reference photo that I took at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico several years ago.  It is shown above my finished pastel painting.  For a hyperrealist a good reference photo (or the real deal in front of them, like a still life or a live model) is key.  I would also add that for me, taking my own reference photo is also important.  I not only take a lot of time to compose my shot, but I also glean extra information from the scene that I store away in my memory which contributes to my painting as I work.  I call it plein air observation.  Colors and textures especially get filed away in my brain, and when I look at the photo in my studio I remember where my reference photo falls short.

Back at my easel I try to tap into the look and feel of the scene again in my mind’s eye.  I want those details to take my breath away just like the lizard’s gorgeous scales and the rich burnt orange gradated facade did when I snapped my photo.  And as good as my camera is and as eye catching as my reference photo is, that feeling I got at that moment still isn’t there in the photo.  So I tweak the depth in the lizard and I add texture and more brilliant color to that wall and I stroke the outlines of those scales with my pastel pencil marks until the painting starts to sing, coming alive with its realness.  As I have often said, “Nature says it best, I just embellish the tale.”

My goal is to imitate nature such that my viewer feels like the real lizard is right there in front of them.  My goal is NOT to simply imitate my photograph.  What came first, nature or the photograph?  Obviously, nature.  Let’s set photography aside for a moment.  What if I drew and painted that lizard from life using no reference photo, and made it look hyperrealistic in my usual chosen style?  Would that be legitimate art?  Of course it would.  Then why would it be less legitimate if I use my own photograph since I can’t convince that lizard to stand still for about 15 hours straight?  Back in the late 1500’s, was Caravaggio’s tightly styled artwork of people in gorgeously dramatic scenes considered illegitimate because the work looks realistic?  Of course not.  So why can’t a painting today look realer than real, like (gasp) a photograph?  BTW, “It looks like a photograph” is simply a shorthanded way these days to say, “it looks so real.”  My point is that the photograph is an imitation of reality, not the other way around.  So is a hyperrealistic painting; it’s an imitation of reality, not of a photograph.  When someone compliments me with, “Wow, that looks like a photograph,” I know what they mean.  I simply say thank you.

We hyperrealists stand on the shoulders of a number of very notable contemporary artists, with my all-time art idol, Daniel E. Greene, being one of the very best.  In fact, one of his pastel paintings so took my breath away over 20 years ago that I was determined to find instructors who could teach me how to wield my pastels and make them do THAT.  And thankfully with manufacturers’ improvements in the pastels themselves and then with the introduction of beautiful pastel pencils, the door to the world of details and textures was flung wide open for us hyperrealists who work with pastels.  We artists are drawn to a certain art style almost like it’s inborn in us.  When I viewed that painting by Daniel E. Greene I was smitten.  I thought to myself, “Where have you been all my life?  THIS is how I want to paint.” 

I will not apologize for my art style and if a budding artist out there wants to pursue a hyperrealistic style in their artwork, I say go for it. Seek out instructors who can teach you how to make your lizards and landscapes and lemons and lions and larks and lollipops look realer than real. It is super hard work, but you will get better with practice.  Just remember, real live nature came first, not the photograph.  Your goal should be to imitate nature in all its rich complexity.  Push yourself to go beyond your reference photo.  Become a magician and make your 2-D art look 3-dimensionally jaw dropping. 

There’s room for everyone in the art world, including but not limited to: impressionists, tonalists, plein air enthusiasts, abstractionists, colorists, and hyperrealists.  None of our styles are automatically lesser than just because someone doesn’t connect with them.  As Andy Warhol famously said one time, “Don’t think about making art, just get it done.  Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it.  While they are deciding, make even more art.”  

Summer Dream, pastel, 16x20"

This is my latest pastel.  It stretched me.  Why?  Because I wanted to try to depict what Lake Michigan looks like as if in a dream.  When I go to the Indiana Dunes in the summertime to watch the sun set over that magical lake on a beautifully picturesque evening, I usually sleep well that evening because the luscious colors are still dancing and the lapping waves are still ebbing and flowing inside my dreams.  But my dilemma was how to render that and make it look like a dream on a flat surface.

What Dreams May Come, charcoal, 11x14"

Many years ago, I drew a dreamscape in charcoal.  I titled it, What Dreams May Come, a reference to a line in Hamlet’s soliloquy, “What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil?”  With that drawing I wanted to utilize 3 views of a sculpture that is installed at Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids MI, of a huge black metal face.  I gave that whole drawing a Van Gogh and Dali-esque look and feel.  I still love the result of that drawing, but I wanted this sunset painting to look more realistic, yet still dreamlike.

I stopped to ponder what I actually see when I dream.  Are the colors vibrant?  Yes, but kind of mushy edged.  Aha, that was the answer – fuzzy edges.  I played around with my reference photo using Photoshop and feathered the 2 vertical sides of the picture plane.  That was it!  I found by trying different colors along the edges that white did not work as the feathery color.  I thought at first that it might, but the contrast was too stark.  Warm colors jumped forward too much, so then I tried cool colors. A very pale gray-violet seemed to work perfectly.  It felt right as I added it to my painting’s edges and also to the upper clouds in the painting itself.

So, did I succeed in painting a dreamscape of Lake Michigan?  I think so.  I’ll have to sleep on it this summer after viewing a stunning sunset, just to be sure.