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     A little over a week ago, I received news of the passing of one of the giants in the art world. Richard Schmid was a legend to so many and rightly so. Studying his work, I am always amazed by the magic he was able to capture on canvas. 

     I first met with Richard at Talisman Gallery in Bartlesville, Oklahoma sometime in the mid to late 70’s. He was the main event there with a one man show scheduled every year and I had recently returned to my hometown of Tulsa after studying painting in New York. By some stroke of luck I was able to get representation in that same gallery and eventually our paths did cross. At the gallery owner’s urging he agreed to take a look at my work and that was the beginning of our correspondence. At first most of our communication was through the mail and back in those days it was a slow process—waiting to fill up a roll of slide film, getting it developed, mailing a few images off for a critique and then waiting for a reply. In retrospect that slow process was probably an advantage since every bit of advice was such a treasure. I soaked up his words like a sponge and studied the only 2 books of his that were published at that time. This went on for a number of years; the letters and cards are postmarked from 1979-1983.

    Rereading them today I'm struck by how much they are as I remember — filled with warmth and encouragement. Since he’s the author of the words, I’m not at liberty to quote directly but his advice would run the gamut; which slide film would render color the best, commiserating on the difficulty of painting roses, the aggravations of artificial lighting, observing each tree and painting it as if you were doing it’s portrait. Above all, reminders to ‘keep the faith’ and to work from life as much as possible. Mercifully, most of the slides and photos I sent are no longer with the letters but the few I did find were humbling in the extreme. I can only be in awe of his graciousness and creativity in finding positive things to say about them.

    Eventually I was invited to also meet with Richard when he was in Bartlesville and bring any new work I had available to look at. For reasons I never understood, these meetings in person never approached the same warmth and ease of conversation I felt when reading the letters, but no doubt my intimidations and awkward social skills contributed to that. Nonetheless, one of the most memorable lessons he gave me was a very simple visual explanation of the way our eyes perceive colors of light and shadow. Although I knew that principle in my head (shadows appear to be the complement of the color of the light), it wasn’t making the transition into my paintings. I remember so clearly how he took a blank piece of white paper, led me over to the cool diffused light coming in the gallery windows, and touched a finger to the middle of the paper so that it cast a shadow. ’See the warmth?’ he said, and indeed I did —right away! A light bulb moment for sure, but it would still take many years before I better understood the nature of pigments and realized that a solid understanding of the principle was essential to being able to create convincing illusions of light and depth. That was a fundamental lesson about harmony too, and such an excellent way to get the point across.

      Many people reading these letters today would be puzzled by the absence of detailed advice on technique, but in truth there was almost no mention of medium, brushes or knives. I never attended a workshop with Richard and never even saw him holding a brush until I watched his videos decades later. Probably that was a good thing, because the temptation to try to mimic every move might have been overwhelming back when I was so desperate to improve. As it was I just kept going back to the books and his wise words and practicing in hopes of getting better. 

      Our paths overlapped at fateful time. Unknowingly, we both individually had really tough times ahead with loss and grief on a personal level. Art and painting were among the constants that saw us through. Eventually I moved to New Mexico and he resettled for a while in the Chicago area. Although occasionally over the years I would get a card or would run into him at an exhibition of some sort, there wasn’t a lot of contact after that. Still, I’ll be forever grateful for that encouragement and guidance from him at a time in my life when it meant so very much to me. 

      Rest in peace. 

Spring at Last! The daffodils are in bloom at my house and all of a sudden I have more than enough fresh flowers to paint. This piece (11x8)

is not quite finished, but as I was studying it, the thought crossed my mind that this painting could provide a good visual explanation of my general approach to backgrounds. Well.... actually what I was thinking ,was that probably somebody who has studied with me will email this same image with various areas of the background circled, requesting an explanation for how I could possibly come up with these colors when I keep advising people to paint what they see. Watching and listening to students, I realize that many are convinced it's just a matter of a little pink here and a touch of yellow there, and that I invent those either at the beginning or at the very end. The real answer is far more simple than that, which is not the same thing as easier. I actually go to quite a bit of trouble to make sure I can put down the notes I see and get my brain out of the way, so to speak.

I'm certainly not above using my artistic license when the situation calls for it, or leaving a happy accident if it seems to fit. However, when starting out a painting I'm generally very true to the relationships I see and especially when it comes to values and colors. I've set up a composition that is visually pleasing to me and my goal is to capture as much of that beauty and atmosphere as possible. Sometimes the backgrounds are a solid piece of cloth where I'm searching for nuances in value and color, but more often than not, I've created an arrangement where there's plenty of variety in the background already and all I need to do is interpret and perhaps tone down or simplify the shapes and notes that are there. Sometimes it's a rug, a tapestry or print. Other times there could be bottles or other objects that end up being just abstract shapes. In this example I'm using a favorite backdrop which is a rather expensive silk scarf that I spotted years ago in the Smithsonian gift shop. I was drawn to the harmonious and gradual color transitions and sure enough, I've put this one to good use. The backside has a slightly different color overall so it's sort of 2 backgrounds in one. 

So, why would I go to this expense and bother when, after decades of painting I could easily invent a bunch of different colors in my backgrounds? It's because the qualities that I value the most in my work become elusive when the intellectual side of my brain tries to run the show. The background notes touch nearly every other object in the composition, and in turn, that affects every edge which affects the mood, the atmosphere, the conversation, etc.  The more of that pure seeing I get in my paintings, the happier I am with them and the more fun they are. When it works well, there's a magic to the process that's hard to describe. All of the artists I admire speak of this state and athletes often refer to it as 'the zone'. An 'X factor' maybe? When I paint in this way the results are more playful, more interesting, more honest, more sensitive and more surprising than anything I could possibly come up with out of my head. That is the reason I go to the extra effort.

Later, when I've pretty much nailed every note as accurately as possible, that's when I'll allow the thinking side of my mind to do its thing. Straightening a vase or bottle, building up the paint in an area, adjusting a clunky shape or discordant color ---all of those are things that come into the picture eventually. The tricky part is knowing when and where to use analytical knowledge, and when to hopefully get it out of the way, which is always the greater challenge.  I will probably look at these daffodils for a few weeks before attempting any finishing touches. When I have the luxury of time, the adjustments I make are usually fewer and sometimes quite different from what I might have done if I had pushed myself to completely finish the painting right away. In this case, my instinct right now is to pretty much leave the background as it is because it's doing the job I intended for it to do --- complement the flowers, convey depth, and not compete with my center of interest. 

"I do not judge, I only chronicle." -- John Singer Sargent

"Humble yourself before nature, it is too majestic for you to do it justice." --- Charles Hawthorne 

"Go with the flow." --- Anonymous