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About
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10/17/07 |
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I moved to the coast of North Carolina a few years ago with one goal in mind. I wanted to paint seriously and consistently for the first time in my life.
Although I had painted on and off since age 6, I needed to take a period of time to evaluate where I was with it all. I had, after all, majored in art over 35 years ago but I knew I still had a lot to learn.
I read and studied extensively on my own to fill in some of those missing pieces—in order to save myself a lot of time and frustration, and to hopefully become a better painter in the process.
During that period, I was especially impressed and intrigued with a book by Emile Gruppé (1896-1978), Gruppé On Color. It is significant for me to relate my study of Gruppé because of the impact it has had on my work and me. Gruppé worked and studied with greats like Childe Hassam, John Carlson and Charles Hawthorne—studying at the Arts Students League in New York, and then painting in Gloucester, Massachusetts most of his life. He painted prodigiously and also felt that teaching was part of his learning experience.
I decided to adopt his palette as my own. Gruppé worked in oils —I prefer to work in acrylics. I had to adapt corresponding pigments. I knew I didn’t want to use black and premixed earth pigments as “crutches” and I wanted more richness and truth to my color. Gruppé’s somewhat austere palette seemed to say, “this is the way.” Gruppé’s palette consisted only of a warm and cool of each primary—plus white. He mixed various secondary colors, darks, and earth colors from these reds, yellows, and blues. Gruppé felt that these mixes conveyed more life and truth to the canvas and the subject at hand. One of the other purposes of this strict, limited palette, Gruppé felt, was to eliminate so many options, thus making you think, observe more carefully, and thus respond more sensitively. Gruppé admitted that it was not an easy palette to work with, but well worth the struggle. He accepted it as a daily challenge—the challenge to welcome the unexpected and not stick to any formulas. I slowly began to start to absorb a little of Gruppé’s way of seeing and working—how he thoughtfully, logically, and instinctively responded to color as it was affected by light. I took a little familiarity in tow, and began doing some small seascapes. I tried to work consistently to become familiar enough to reach for the basics on my palette with a somewhat unconscious “knowing”—to mix, more easily, the values that I needed. I began to understand what Gruppé meant when he said, “It takes a while to get the hang of it. I sometimes say that after sixty years, I’m just beginning to understand it!”
I floundered and procrastinated for a while, mainly with subject matter and a lack of a focused direction. A Beaufort friend and former college classmate kept encouraging me that I would find “my niche” and that it would not be the normal artist-gallery route.
Another dear friend kept telling me to do what I loved, to follow all those signs and clues, do what I felt in my heart, stay focused and determined, use my insight and talent to share with others, and the journey would unfold and open up for me—coming back full circle—to truly enrich my life.
An old black and white photograph of the James Davis House, on Anne Street, in Jean Kell’s book The Old Port Town ~ Beaufort, NC, inspired my first porch painting. Though the photograph was dark and unclear, I was drawn to the “intimacy” and the dappled light on the walls of the porch. I wondered if I could capture this feeling on canvas, interpret what I saw and felt, bring it to life, and retain the antiquated look of a home built in 1817. While painting I thought, “I really like this…there is something here!”
Even in this first painting there was something that drew me into wanting not only to paint and document other old porches, but to also finding out all that I could about their histories. After all, an artist has to truly “know” a subject before it can be painted with a sensitivity that will evoke an emotional response from the viewer, not only from the painting’s subject matter, but also from what he senses of the artist’s mind and emotions at work. I knew this and made the decision from the beginning not just to render, but also to continue to do my best to step into the warmth and intimacy of each porch that I paint.
After painting a few porches I knew I had indeed embarked on a special journey. But I did not anticipate how this focus would lead me on a path that could open up so many doors. Just as Beaufort’s porches have always been a means of communication for its residents, they became a special means of communication for me—their doors flung open to learning, connecting, and sharing. I have gotten to know the present owners who sit on these porches today. We have shared histories, research, and many stories—many factual, some legend.
Amazingly in the painting process itself I often find myself transported back in time as I learn more about the histories of the houses connected to these porches. I find myself thinking of all those who witnessed history in the making in this third oldest town in North Carolina—pirates, Indians, soldiers—those who saw this “fishtowne” develop and grow. I find myself asking what they were like. What did they wear? Who routinely came and went? Who visited from foreign lands? What other homes were nearby at the time? Were there horses and boats tied to the front columns? How did they weather the coastal storms?
Along the way I’ve also made many discoveries about the materials these porches were made of—the salt cured cypress planks, the square nails used to space porch floorboards, the hand-forged iron hinges that enable the window shutters to open and shut against hard winds.
I have also learned some architectural terminology—balusters, balustrades, mouse holes, pigeonholes—and the like. Balusters are all the many posts in a porch railing—the balustrade is the top rail that helps hold them all together. Mouse holes are the little indentions below a shutter rail that the rail fits into when closed. Pigeonholes are the ventilation holes in many of the brick underpinnings. All of this—the “getting to know” Beaufort’s porches—has enabled me to hopefully more accurately portray the warm feelings and personalities imparted by the actual porches themselves. So many people have told me, “Your paintings make me want to actually want to go sit on these porches.” Yes, I am “documenting” more and more “porchscapes,” but the real reward is in the genuine smiles, hugs—and often a tear or two—when I deliver a painting. So, here’s to Beaufort’s porches! —And all the many people who believe in and continue to encourage me along the way. As I continue to “preserve” these wonderful porches, there is constant growth and learning about life, myself, my art, and Beaufort by-the-sea.
2 Mary Warshaws…2 Artists
If you have done a search for “Mary Warshaw” you may have been a bit confused. This is to clarify that there are at least two artists by the name of Mary Warshaw. They live on opposite sides of the United States. Oddly enough, North Carolina’s Mary Warshaw lives in Beaufort near the Rachel Carson Estuarian Reserve and California’s Mary Warshaw lives in Watsonville near the Elkhorn Slough.
California’s Mary Warshaw has painted the estuarine lands of the Elkhorn Slough for over 20 years, considering it a meditation as she preserves and helps draw attention to these precious wetlands. She currently is part of the gallery on the Elkhorn Slough’s website, www.elkhornslough.org
North Carolina’s Mary Faith Warshaw also paints her coastal environment, but has for the past two years been focusing on painting the unique porches of Beaufort’s old homes, many going back to the 1700’s. All this has taken her on a journey of both art and history. For more information please visit www.marywarshaw.com.
© 2004-2006 - Mary Warshaw - All Rights Reserved |
