Alien Mango Tree Progression

The first rule of composition is, ā€œdonā€™t be boring.ā€

Step one of Maggie Daigles Alien Mango Tree Progression, as she called this exercise. She drew 90Ā° from this, and flipped it because she liked this view better.

Composition is an enormous subject, rather like the Chinese language, and it is hard to shoehorn into a single class or blog post.

The first step is to unlearn what we think we know. Weā€™ve all been corrected and criticized with petty compositional ā€˜rulesā€™. Heck, I preach petty rules myself. But most of them are, to some degree, questions of fashion. All are breakableā€”once you understand why they were formulated in the first place.

Step two of Maggie’s process; she saw the large shape at left as a rock but didn’t like it.

Consider the rule that tells students to not center their subject, or to follow the Golden Ratio or the rule of thirds in space division. The point is to be interesting, but it would be far more sensible to ask yourself: ā€œWhatā€™s the best way to include everything that needs to be in my painting, and nothing more?ā€

The mathematical approach is dogmatic, rigid and boring; asking yourself the compositional question provokes thought. In freeing ourselves from those rules, we might just realize that symmetry can be visually powerful, especially in an age that rejects it.

Maggie’s finished painting. Since I have no idea what a mango tree looks like, I can’t judge its realism, but I can say it’s much more interesting than your typical painting of a beach.

I teach realistic painting, but thatā€™s no reason to disregard abstraction. Iā€™ve written before about my admiration for the color-field painter Clyfford Still. I learn a lot from his paintings because theyā€™re all about composition, with no pesky details thrown in.

In class this week, I resurrected an old exercise I havenā€™t used in at least a decade (and never on Zoom). I asked my students to create monochrome abstractions and then turn them into realistic paintings. The details of that realistic framework didnā€™t matter, but I chose the beach as our subject. Thatā€™s because the beach is an amorphous concept. It can be anything you want it to be. The clouds, the surf, the dunes, the rocks, and even the sun are all manipulable. Put them anywhere you want.

Paula Tefft did the same exercise in watercolor.

If you doubt thatā€™s true, look at the mature work of Winslow Homer through a very blurry lens. Heā€™s nominally painting the coast of Maine but what heā€™s really doing is experimenting with the play and placement of light and dark, particularly the relationship between diagonals.

Reality should not be the artistā€™s guiding light. Nor should another painter. What separates you from the masses of other aspiring painters is what comes from withinā€”the entirety of your experience and learning up to the point at which you pick up a brush.

Paula’s finished beach scene.

ā€œStudents of painting should devote more energy to educating themselves about their own idiosyncrasies and less energy on trying to find that perfect paintbrush, brand of paint, canvas etc. that will make them be able to paint like ā€˜so and soā€™,ā€ Kyle Buckland wrote recently. ā€œYou can paint a compelling design with mud on a stick if you know what you want to do.ā€

The only absolute compositional rule I believe in is, ā€œdonā€™t be boringā€ (although heaven knows I break it enough). Of course, I can make some practical suggestions to help you avoid lack of excitement, but if your design isnā€™t thrilling to you, it wonā€™t be to anyone else, either. That requires digging in, and thatā€™s best done in the design phase, not when youā€™re being bothered by the pesky details of reality.

Flat-packing the landscape

Painting composition is all about ruthless editing. Itā€™s a creative process, and itā€™s based on seeing.

Bill’s Yellow (with Admiration), 2005, Cornelia Foss, Houston Museum of Fine Art
Sometimes I hand out little plastic viewfinders to my students. Mine are made of Plexiglas, roughly along the lines of this one. But they are for beginners, to help them start to break down the vastness of the landscape into palatable bites. I donā€™t encourage reliance on viewfinders, any more than I like working from photos. Art is based on seeing.  Seeing isnā€™t a mechanical process; itā€™s a learned art.
Artwork Essentialā€™s viewfinder is based on the Rule of Thirds. When I was in school, I was taught to divide canvases using the Golden Mean. Itā€™s imprinted in my aesthetic, so I still see it as the most graceful compositional device.  Later, I learned about Dynamic Symmetry. All of these are good working systems, and all of them are based on mathematics.
The Golden Mean is closely related to the Fibonacci Sequence.
The human mind, in receiving mode, likes to tarry on puzzles. Thatā€™s why we use these complex mathematical systems to compose our paintings. In sending and processing mode, however, the mind ruthlessly regularizes thoughts. If youā€™ve ever tried to paint a screen of branches as in the Klimt painting below, you know this to be true. You must fight to keep them honest. Left to its own devices, your subconscious mind will line them up like little soldiers.
We ā€œknowā€ compositional rules, and then we see a painting like Cornelia Fossā€™ Billā€™s Yellow (with Admiration) and we realize that all such rules can be set on their heads. Ms. Foss isnā€™t ignorant of design systems; in fact she knows them so well that she can play with them. Billā€™s Yellow wouldnā€™t have been nearly the painting had she offset the brush and tree in a conventional way. It is monumental because she centered and overlaid them.
Beech Grove I, 1902, Gustav Klimt, New Masters Gallery, Dresden.
Compositions designed with mechanical devices are ā€˜safer,ā€™ but they eliminate the space needed to make creative discoveries.  I greatly admire the work of painter Mary Byrom. Having now known her personally for several years, I know she endlessly experiments with composition and form. She isnā€™t getting those arresting compositions by setting up with a viewfinder; she gets them by slogging through damp marshes at twilight, and endlessly tinkering.
Early Dusk, Mary Byrom
ā€œPlein air painting is like a test you take in class,ā€ Brad Marshall told me. ā€œYou have to use your knowledge and finish by the end of the class period. Thereā€™s no credit for incomplete answers.
ā€œStudio paintings are like essays. You have enough time to do your research, write and rewrite until the work is good enough to turn in.ā€
Thereā€™s room for both in professional painting, but for learning and growth, working from life is critical. Thatā€™s why I strongly discourage working from photos in my studio classes. Photos have already done the most important job for the painter: flat-packing the scene.
Confronted with the vastness of reality, all artists must relentlessly, ruthlessly edit what they see into a working design. With photographs, that is already done. And thereā€™s no guarantee that it has been done well.

Come paint with me in my studio in Rockport, ME or my workshop at Acadia National Park.