Perspectives on Art 

Walter Foster freelance editor Merrie Destefano recently posted a review on her blog of Walter Foster’s forthcoming title, Watch Me Draw The Monsters Under My Bed (Oct 2009). Aside from being a great review, Merrie is an entertaining writer:   

I’m a big fan of everything that goes bump in the night. Vampires, ghosts, goblins, twisted branches that thump against the window and sound like someone is trying to break into the house. In particular, I’ve always had a soft spot for monsters under the bed. Creepy, tangled in cobwebs, hiding in shadows and much too flat to look human.
I just always wished they were under someone else’s bed.
Well, I finally got my wish.

To read the rest of Merrie’s review, check out her blog at
http://alien-dream.blogspot.com/2009/07/monsters-under-bed.html .
You can also follow Merrie on Twitter at http://twitter.com/merriedestefano .

So apparently the Mona Lisa originally had eyebrows. Eyelashes too. What are my sources for this outrageous assertion? Well, during a recent trip up to Portland, Oregon, I paid a visit to the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) for the sole reason of visiting the special traveling da Vinci exhibit entitled, “Da Vinci the Genius.” After working my way through the codices, various built-to-scale inventions, and anatomical sketches, I entered the portion of the exhibit featuring the “Secrets of Mona Lisa.” And that’s where I stumbled upon this shocking business about her eyebrows. A single informational placard seemed to jostle the fragile core of my very limited knowledge of art history.

While this may already be common knowledge to some of you, it was a rather startling (and more than a little unwelcome) discovery for me. I imagine the realization I experienced was somewhat akin (though to a much lesser degree, I will admit) to how connoisseurs of the Sistine Chapel must have felt after the restoration of Michelangelo’s ceiling was completed in the mid-1990s, revealing colors much more vibrant than many anticipated. It is unsettling, this feeling—to think that an ancient master’s original work might have been significantly different from what we’ve always accepted and believed it to be. Now granted whether Mona Lisa had eyebrows or eyelashes can’t really be considered a terribly drastic visual difference, but as it concerns my personal perception of the painting, they may as well have told me she was blonde.

I first saw the Mona Lisa on a day trip to the Louvre in 2005 when I was studying abroad in France. At that time, I already had a crisp mental picture to work with, as would most people. (After all, I would imagine the painting is one of the most recognizable in existence.) I knew exactly what to expect, even that the painting would be smaller than I was expecting. And as I stood in front of the piece, for probably no more than three to five minutes of my seven-hour Louvre adventure, I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. I’m slightly embarrassed to admit it, but the lasting impression the painting left on me was something along the lines of, “Why would you ever paint someone without eyebrows?”

And now, thanks to the results of an extensive photographic study by a man named Pascal Cotte, I know that da Vinci probably would have asked the very same question of someone else’s Mona, had there been one during his lifetime. Cotte’s study, the exhibit will lead you to believe, has irrefutably confirmed the past existence of both eyebrows and eyelashes on da Vinci’s materpiece. So there you have it. Eyebrows. Eyelashes. There’s no telling what might come next....

To learn more about "Da Vinci the Genius," visit http://www.davincithegenius.com.

Walter Foster titles that feature da Vinci:
Learn to Draw Like the Masters: Dragons
The Daily Book of Art

Lance Richlin is the author of Drawing Made Easy: Lifelike Heads

People always say to me, “I wish I could paint.” I try to explain to them that they can, but they never believe me. And when teaching in art schools, I find that students are worried sick because they aren't sure if they have enough talent. I wish I could get them all to realize that they do have enough talent. The truth is that anyone with above-average intelligence could create the painting below—all that’s required is proper technique and a couple years of practice.
 

Of course, I can still take pride in my accomplishment. I’m proud that I learned the best techniques and practiced them. But the pride I allow myself is comparable to any professional that has earned an advanced degree.
 
In previous eras (from the Renaissance to the early 20th century), one could go to an academy or atelier and expect to leave with skills similar to those of the master. The ability to paint realistically was considered the birthright of anyone, in the same way that people can learn to write or multiply. There was/is no such thing as magical artistic talent that rare individuals are born with.
 
In medicine, do people become doctors because in youth they discovered their “knack” for surgery? No, doctors learn their trade from medical school. The same goes for art. However, note that medical schools with poor records are shut down. Unfortunately this is not so with art schools—specifically, schools that claim to teach realism. And these days, we have plenty of bad art schools.
 
The classical painting approach is the easiest method to learn, but it is understood by only a few artists. Classical artists must master all of the following: figure drawing and anatomy, perspective, composition, and traditional painting techniques. I’ve given up trying to convince other artists that my method is the same as Van Dyke’s. This creates tremendous confusion and debate. Therefore, I simply tell students that this (pointing to my work) is how I paint—and if they like my results, they should study at my atelier.
 
Be ruthless in choosing a teacher. His abilities should be as impressive and refined as artists from the great ages of painting, and his students should also be superb. In every major city, you will find someone with classical training; seek out this person and learn from him, keeping in mind that he may not be famous, and he might not teach at an art school. Just remember that if you persevere and refuse to compromise, you can acquire the highest levels of skill.
 

Many years ago, long before the Internet and Google ever existed, I bought Walter Foster books. They are fascinating  instructional materials for student painters and art enthusiasts as well.  Photographs of oil on canvass come in whole pages of 10” x 14” size so you can actually see the texture of the brush strokes and palette knives. I regarded the photos and the personal notes of the artists as priceless treasures.

I would look at those photographs and just fall in love with them – particularly on still life with floral subjects.  There was this one edition authored by an American female artist who picked fresh roses, arranged them on a vase and quickly painted them before the petals wither.  I do not remember her name anymore. I reproduced one of her works. I did my best to copy it down to the last detail. There  was a drop of water on the white petal but when I restored the painting a decade later, I have forgotten to put it back.  The one below is my very first oil painting done more than twenty years ago and still hangs in my family’s ancestral home.



From another Walter Foster book is a painting of flowers that are of great similarity to Carnation cuttings.  The vase is a traditional glazed pot widely used in the Philippines.  I remember refining the details and strokes more than what is visible from the photograph. I also added more highlights and shadows to make it more vibrant. I made the painting as a gift of love to Severina Kasilag Francisco, a most beautiful person and fine lady greatly loved by all those who knew her.  My reproduction hanged in her living room for twelve years until she passed away in the year 2000.  It has been a witness to the many stories that have been shared in that living room. Still in its original wooden frame that I bought in 1988  at Bacolod City, the painting is now a memory lane by itself.



While looking for old magazines one day, I found a pile of canvass covered with dust. One of them had pencil sketches of a bouquet.  I remember wanting to paint it as a wedding present to my sister, Cristina. Shortly after the wedding, she would  live abroad with her husband. It was a busy time. I designed a fully beaded wedding gown for her which mother wonderfully put together.  The list of preparations never seem to end. While in the midst of all the chaos and excitement,  I got a job which included a lot of travel. It was a good time for everyone. We were all young, hopeful, and healthy.

The pencil sketch on canvass was done  just halfway from completion.  Maybe if I could find enough paint, I could spend the whole day to finish it. And I did.

Finally, I can show you an original fine art done with no photograph or reference to copy from. By instinct, I used an impressionist style.  I used less linseed for the opaque look and opted for palette knives and flat brushes. When completely dried up, I rubbed oil pastel (crayons) to add texture.

I like the challenge of reproduction because it takes some technical discipline to apply the same strokes and hues.  However,  doing an original piece gives me the freedom to experiment and do as I please.



I have mentioned to my family and friends that someday, when I retire, I would live in a small cottage surrounded by a bed of blooms throughout the year.  Let time stand still – I can paint for love the rest of my days.