The Optical Tools of the Old Masters

What is the Secret Knowledge?

 

    When we talk about master artists, what are our assumptions?  There may or may not be technical virtuosity, innovative use of materials, mastery of color and form.  What I think we can safely assume is that there is something about the way a master artist sees - either the physical world or the interior world of the imagination.  For my part, I’d say it is the vision of the artist, the ability to observe the visible world and then translate that observation meaningfully that sets an artist into the category of “master."  Some artists actually suffered from eye or neurological problems that impacted their vision.  Monet had cataracts that strongly influenced his later paintings; Van Gogh had problems with his eyes (and with the medicines he took for them) that may have effected his color vision and exaggerated the “halo” effect he saw around lights at night; Rembrandt may have had strabismus, which is suggested by misalignment of his eyes in his self-portraits.  Before the widespread use of corrective lenses, any visual artist painting from life was at the mercy of his or her eyes, and any loss of visual acuity could mean the end of a career - or potentially, it could provoke innovation.
    Artists, art historians, physicists, and eye specialists have all brought their own expertise to the question how did this artist see?  What evidence is there of eye disease or faulty vision?  What evidence is there that this artist had an optical assist? 
    As early as the 11th Century, monks were using lenses to help with illuminating manuscripts; prisms
were so common by Isaac Newton’s time that he was able to purchase some at a local market fair; and of course mirrors (at first of polished metals) were in use for millennia. DaVinci’s notebooks are filled with drawings of optical apparatus, and he is known to have used a camera obscura - essentially a giant pinhole camera - as a drawing aid.  He wasn’t the only artist to do so.

Drawing from Da Vinci's notebooks of a camera obscura

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          In fact, in the 15th Century, there was a dramatic shift in painting towards extreme realism.  There are persuasive arguments that starting at this time, many master painters were using optical devices that were becoming widely available to help them render complex scenes with minute detail and precision.  Some of the evidence is in the subject matter of the paintings themselves - we see spectacles, magnifying glasses, convex mirrors, prisms, all of which can be used in combination to project an image onto a surface.  Some of the evidence is in the changing focus in some paintings - an effect that doesn’t happen with the human eye, which refocuses on whatever it looks at directly. Lens effects such as fish-eye distortions are evident in some paintings, too.  Some evidence comes from x-rays, which reveal how “sketchy” an underpainting or drawing was (or whether there was one at all - sketchy lines indicate an artist trying to get the shape or line or position right, in other words, by eye; unhesitating lines are tracing lines,)  Some of the evidence is practical - to render mathematical precision of curving patterns by eye is extremely complex and time-consuming, and working artists usually did not have the luxury of spending that much time.  Documentary evidence from letters and diaries often reveals the time spent before delivering portraits, as well as mentions of various "devices" in studios. There is an almost breathtaking exuberance to the depiction of lavishly patterned or embroidered textiles, engraving on shaped armor, and minute details of facial features that arrives (in art history terms) almost overnight.  The shift from generalized portraiture to almost photographic realism in distinct, specific portraits happens in the blink of an eye.
    These arguments, and the paintings that support them, are convincingly presented in a book by famed artist, David Hockney, The Secret Knowledge.  (It’s a big glossy book you may find in your public library’s oversized collection).  Hockney argues that this "secret knowledge" of using optical tools as drawing aids was often a trade secret, passed down from master to student, but not widely known (or understood) outside of the scientific or artistic community.  This “optical drawing tools thesis” often runs into fierce opposition from

critics and art historians who prefer to attribute all mastery in great painting to “genius.”  This, I think, is too rigid a view of what artists do (especially artists who are trying to earn a living, an important consideration when it comes to efficiency).  The artist may be brilliant and have a unique visual interpretation to share, but without any tools, how is that sharing supposed to occur?  We allow the artist the paintbrush, we allow the paints - and as paint technology changed over time the colors changed and became more vivid.  I hope we would allow the artist corrective lenses - otherwise everyone reading this with the aid of glasses is out of luck.  Stencils are tools.  Rulers are tools.  Rubber stamps and pencils and pens are tools. Using a grid to help copy an image, using reference photos, cameras themselves - these are all tools for the artist.  Without a vision, the tools are just inert objects.  Art arises from the decisions the artist makes about what to show us with those materials.  The tools are there to help make those decisions visible to the rest of us.
    There are digital tools now that can help artists in similar ways.  The camera lucida, a portable optical drawing tool patented in 1806, has been reimagined a number of times by app developers.  I’ve played around with a couple of them; one is called Camera Lucida, one is called AR Art Projector: Da Vinci Eye.  It takes some getting used to, because while you are drawing you are looking at the screen of your phone or tablet rather than the paper you are drawing on,  but it’s well worth experimenting with. Practice, practice!  Try it with pencil.  Try it with a pen.  Try with a loaded brush.  Try with charcoal.  Try the same image at different enlargements.  Try it with a face, try it with a building, try it with a landscape. 
    At this point you may be wondering why you might bother with a technique that takes so much practice when - if you want that kind of accuracy - you can trace over any photograph and transfer it to a surface.  All I can suggest is that you may not always have access to a printer.  You may not own a printer.  You may have a printer but be traveling.  I’m sure are there are other reasons.  Maybe you don’t even need a reason.  Learning new techniques to apply to art making is always an opportunity for growth.   Most importantly, free yourself from the worry that using any kind of drawing aid is somehow cheating.  After all, if a candid photograph can be art, then nothing else you make with your hands - and tools - need be disqualified from consideration.  We may be awestruck watching an artist create a realistic portrait alla prima, but that’s not the only way to do it.  The old masters showed us the way.
    So, you should feel free to use this tool to add anything to your artwork that you want to draw accurately - even if it’s just to get the proportions right.  Below are some examples of my own experiments with the Camera Lucida app.  I’m using it on my phone, but you can also install it on an iPad, and I think that might be easier.
    What you should know:
    1. Don’t use a pen with a white casing if you’re drawing on white paper - I couldn’t see where I was when I carelessly picked up a white ballpoint to draw with.  You'll see what happened when I made that mistake!
    2. When the app is in drawing mode, you can magnify your drawing and the photo in order to work on fine details, without losing the alignment of your phone with the image you are drawing.
    3. It takes some getting used to, so be prepared to practice drawing the same image over and over with different tools to get a feel for what works best.
    4. A tripod isn’t exactly required, but I don’t imagine you can do this by holding your phone.  Rig up something to hold it still while you draw.

This is a family photo - I'm pretty sure it's my paternal grandfather.  I chose this to practice with as doesn't have a lot of distracting background.  The sepia print means I won't be distracted by color, either.

First attempt, left.  Second attempt, going smaller, but using a pen that was hard to see through the screen!  I got lost trying to find the ears...

Using a marker, and exploring the magnification options.

Here I used a Stabilo All on watercolor paper.

Now I have taped down a small art journal to a spread with blue gesso, and I'm going to try drawing this face now directly into the book. Using the Stabilo All was probably not a good choice, as it loses its sharp point very quickly and makes it hard to get fine detail.

Using the magnification to try to get some detail in the eyes.

Quick art journal spread using the drawing I copied from the photo directly into the journal with the Camera Lucida app.  He came out looking younger than in the photo, but that doesn't matter.

    I haven't yet tried using this app with photos of architecture or landscape, but that will be next on my "to try" list.   If you want to include drawings with accurate proportions in your work, but you feel that your "by eye" drawing skills are not up to the task, by all means, use an optical drawing tool.  If it worked for the greats, it can work for you.

Stencils used in this project:

 

Four inch stencil from the September 2019 Club Set  by Tina Walker

Six inch stencil from the February 2014 Club Set by Mary Beth Shaw

ATC Mixup by Pam Carriker L651

    

Hiroshige Study

 

    Hello, Jennifer Armstrong here, back with another master study.  This time I am turning my attention to the great Japanese printmaker, Utagawa Hiroshige, 1797-1858.  I have a framed poster of one of his prints in my dining room where I can see it every day.  I love it.  It's this one, called In the Kameido Tenjin Shrine, dated 1856.

There are many things I love about this image, and I will begin to break it down analytically in a moment, but first, I want to talk about this artist's influence on Western art. 

Hiroshige's prints (and those of other Japanese masters) were shown in Paris beginning with the Exposition Universelle (World's Fair) of 1855, after Japan reluctantly opened its doors to trade with the West.   To say that the impact on European artists was electrifying is an understatement.  Along with Hokusai, Hiroshige influenced every major artist of the day and the following decades - Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Gaugin, Cassat, and so on.  Copies of the prints were widely and cheaply available, and Van Gogh, for one, amassed a huge collection.  These artists were already restless and dissatisfied with academic classicism, and were ready for a new way of seeing. Arguably, the Impressionist Movement would have taken a very different form without the new visual vocabulary that these woodblock prints offered.  Go here for a good introduction to Japonisme and its influence on European artists - the treatment of the surface, the use of color, and so on.  There haven't been many thunderbolts that had such an profound impact.   Look at European paintings before 1855 and then after - it's all wildly new.

Hiroshige produced two major series of woodblock prints, one largely in landscape format, and the other in a vertical format.  I want to show a few more examples of vertical Hiroshige prints and begin to highlight certain characteristics that I will then attempt to emulate.  From the left: Jumantsubo Plain at Fukagawa Susaki of 1856, Suido Bridge and the Surugadai Quarter, 1857, and Kinryusan Temple at Asakusa 1856.  These three, along with the one above, share some similar elements.

The first is the color.  Aizuri-e literally means "blue printed picture."  Hiroshige's work is very predominantly blue, and specifically, Prussian blue.  These images all have extensive fields of flat blue color, which - among other things - creates a harmoniousness from one print to another through the series. There is also high chromatic contrast, especially between the blue and a dark brick red that appears in the rectangular text blocks, as well as other spots.  Another characteristic of these images is the extreme contrast of scale.  In each one, a relatively small object - flower, bird, kite, lantern - is shown in extreme closeup, while the remaining elements - landscape, architecture, human figures - are shown at an extreme distance.  The flip-flopping of scale is fascinating.  It brings the viewer into close interaction with the picture, creating the impression that the viewer is standing and taking in the view through a window or doorway.  The features of each image that are ostensibly the main focus, based on title, are very far away and thus very small; the titles tell us that it is not not the large, in-your-face object dominating the composition that we are supposed to pay attention to. One of the other elements that captivated the Impressionists was the two-dimensionality of these pictures.  Whereas Western artists had for generations been perfecting the illusion of three-dimensionality in painting, the Japanese prints are deliberately flat, emphasizing surface pattern and line. Objects have outlines.  There is no attempt at creating a naturalistic representation of nature and objects.  European art underwent a revolution after viewing these works.

My own attempt at integrating these concepts is a lot less groundbreaking (to say the least!), but it was an interesting exercise. 

I began with a blue field.  I used ultramarine and Payne's gray watercolor to approximate Prussian blue, and used salt to give the surface a grainy texture.  Then, to emulate the surface pattern and two-dimensionality of the inspiration prints, I used L826 Swatch Grid Stencil by Rae Missgman and watercolor pencils to begin a grid of color blocks.  This, I propose, creates an abstract landscape.  Knowing I would have to have a strong red component, as well as a relatively large object to push into the distance, I stenciled the house from Club Set November 2018 by Pam Carriker onto a piece of magazine paper that had some interesting features. To get a good strong contrast I used micaceous iron oxide. I tried it a couple of ways to see which one would turn out the best. 

  

For the "small object in extreme close-up" element, I toyed with a number of botanical stencils until landing on L911, Rae Missgman's Imaginary Botanical Mask and Stencil set.  I used acrylic paint on a separate sheet of watercolor paper and cut out the images so I could test them out on the composition.  I also chose to outline each of the elements in black, to emulate the outlines on the woodblock prints, giving them all a crisp definition. There isn't a lot of tonal contrast, but the chromatic contrast is pretty vivid. 

My takeaway from this experiment is that the compositional technique I'm most likely to use in future work is the play of scale.  I find the "big thing in the far distance, small thing brushing my forehead" trick very appealing.   I also love the colors, which is why I have one of these prints in my home to begin with.   I urge you all to take a Google tour of Hiroshige's work and notice the features that so profoundly moved artists like Van Gogh and Monet.  It's a wonderful way to see with new eyes.

Stencils used:

L826 Swatch Grid by Rae Missigman

Her Story, November 2018 by Pam Carriker

L911 Imaginary Botanical Mask by Rae Missigman