Moving Forward: Really Seeing Beats Just Looking

Over the last few months, as the number of my  photo based posting have declined, some have inquired about my health.  I'm fine. I've just moved to a more deeply engaged type of observation. 

On Monday last, I walked out my door to explore the nearly  snowy woods.  Found a nice scene to create in this week's sketchbook: 

 

It began as a photo with the camera almost touching the icy layer of white.

I feel the watercolor more closely shows what was key to the scene and leaves out unimportant "stuff" that the camera presented.  The red oak leaves and the textures of snow on the tree bark are the subject.  Rough bark is brown on the left side but tinged with olive green on the right.  The green is likely moss.  The oak bark texture was complex.  The wet-on-wet application of the background was in better balance than in the photo. I wanted the viewer to see the scene in those minutes when some warm sunlight came in to play.

My new direction in art began for me in October 2023 when a found this book that returned me to sketching and watercolor:

Look At That! 

Discover the Joy of Seeing by Sketching

by Bobbie Herron   
now available as Second Edition

It is a simple, refreshing approach to learn how to really see, and to escape the idea that you need to please others with your art. You draw to satisfy yourself.  Any mistake is a lesson to move skill forward.  Since that day, I have found something to sketch nearly every day.  I discovered that there is always something to draw nearby.  Less mileage required.  You will see that I have expanded my subjects well past the natural. 

In December, I was at the Rockwell Museum's Gingerbread Invitational.  Here is one (of many sketches) that offered much more than a camera could present. Somewhere Over the Technicolor Rainbow was an entry created to remind the viewer of the magic and beauty that color brings to story telling, creativity and our own imagination.  I love the red shoes peaking out from the shed roof.  Poor witch!

 

The central sketch was done on a first visit, but I knew there was more to say.  In the far right was a swirling tornado that did not reach to the top of the shed roof.  There was a huge empty white space at top.  It needed a sky.  I returned to push the tornado to the top plus add a violent storm above. Then made two smaller sketches of a green skinned witch and the little mushroom houses.  Added text.  A photo could not include those inputs.  These are  some of the pluses of sketching.

Previously, I was at the Rockwell's Dia de los  Muertos celebration and sketched the ofrenda - an offerings-  display.  The time preparing a sketch provided deeper insights than a quick snapshot captured in haste.

 

 This was so enjoyable that next year is already anticipated, with more time allowed.  

 

In sketching, it is nice to simply omit or move something that upsets composition.  No expensive software to learn.  Here is an example.

In the photo seen at right, the heavy trees in the distance detract from the interesting briar and the solid beech in the near field.

Too many trees and one that intersects the largest tree close to the briar..  Gee,  I even shifted the big tree in the back.

Easy to clean up and put attention at the form of the briar. When capturing the photo, the photographer likely would never remember the edges of briar leaves or the crooked twists of the stems.  I do now.  See below.

 

 

Sketching naturally leads to entries in a field journal.  There are two different species of dogwood in our gardens with different in leaf shape, colors and seed heads, .  I created this journal entry to compare the overall details.

 

 

This is where my art  is after two years and a quarter.  It feels more authentic than only pushing a shutter button, although I will likely get back to some photography as the spring arrives.  The act of sketching seems more engaged. 

 

Hope you find this interesting and perhaps worth exploring.  As long as the lines on the paper satisfy you, it is art.

 

Paul Schmitt  

 

Concerning the Short Life of a Croissant

One of the mantras of sketching is to draw everything.  The underlying wisdom of this is that all subjects, no matter how common, are worthy of attention.  Sketching moves a person from looking to seeing.   In nineteen months of nearly daily engagement, my skills have grown and my interest in pushing the camera shutter has become more thoughtful. Drawing is  also a sort of Zen disengagement with the daily stresses.

Today, my "draw anything" was a buttery croissant. Here's what I created as a first study of the form and color.  Beyond the lines, there is another challenge, namely creating appropriate colors.  Honestly, finding appropriate hues and tones is a bigger challenge than the form.

I'm happy with the sketch. My objective is to create a two-page image that is stepping from the complete pastry to after the  plate is empty on the theme of:

The Short Life of  a Very Buttery Croissant

So,  the next step is to plan the set of sketches.  I now get to bite into the pastries and create a series of images to use for sketching.  Follow along with commentary on my choices for garnishes.

 Step One:

Just some soft butter.  Very nice depending on the quality of your butter.  Next, I upgraded to something that is special to me,  Apricot Preserves.

Reminds me of my daily breakfast at the Hotel Londres in Fountainebleau, France.   Each morning, a little delivery truck delivered croissants from a bakery that  had been chosen one year as the best in France.  Add some cheeses, and it was a great memory. (Each morning, I looked out my window at the Chateau in morning light.)

Next was Dalmatia Fig Spread.

Lovely.  The pastry is getting small.  One last spread, a French rhubarb spread.   Made this myself.  Recipe is:  4 cups diced rhubarb, 1/2 cup sugar, pinch of salt and 1 teaspoon vanilla.  Cook 'til soft, cool and puree in blender.  

The taste is very mild.  Also great on vanilla  ice cream.

Yes, croissants have a short life around me. 

This was one of the most satisfying sketching projects in recent memory.  I'd love to hear about any similar memories that you can share.

Have a good week.

Paul

The Zen of Seeing: the Camera or the Pen?

 New Year's Greetings 

Some of my photo friends have noted a slower pace in my sharing photos.  It's more of an artistic shift in attention than distractions.  I'll explain a shift in my artistic direction that I believe will yield deeper engagement and possibly some inspiration. 

My creative eye is still active.  Fortunately, my advanced iPhone is always there to capture and surprise as I wander.  After fifty years, Corning city still can deliver a visual treat like this unexpected autumn view of iconic Little Joe Tower.

The sun directly behind the tower was unplanned.  The appeal of the scene is driven by the two subjects- architecture and autumn reflections.

So it was on a  neighborhood walk that a scene expressed the hopeless wish that fall would just STOP.

In the last year, I have realized how easy it is make beautiful images with no real engagement on the subject.

In October 2023, I discovered The Zen of Seeing by Frederick Franck. The basic premise is that moving from Looking to Seeing engages your mind intimately with the world.  Absent all the complexity of photography,  pen and paper are all really required.  

My sketch book from yesterday engaged my attention for nearly an hour with the result that for the first time, I really was seeing a deer; seeing where eyes are located between nose and ears example.

My goal is not to create art for display but to really see, and ultimately make stronger photos.  An artist has the choice of what to draw and what to leave out.  Neither the deer or the amaryllis sketch has need for background.

So, it is that I more fully see the form of this common vine - maybe Virginia Creeper- that is behind my shed.

Unlike the camera, the act of drawing this completely disengaged me from the passage of time and the daily stresses of life.   Drawing is often described as meditative. There is no pressure to please anyone but self.

As autumn has gone into winter, I am engaging in some photography that creates subjects for sketching.  Here are a few with comments about how this Zen Seeing considers the subject. First is a female Northern Cardinal.

Notice the subtle colors. Other than the brilliant red-orange beak, the colors are difficult to describe.  There are cool yellows blending into greenish browns, plus blue/red mixes.  I've made two attempts in watercolors.  Humbling.

Ah, but the flashy male is easier.

Maybe the male's winter coloration is still difficult?  The wing and tail aren't easy, and forget about the feather details.  Made one  attempt. Not ready to share a cardinal sketch yet.  

There is some advice to ignore the feather details that are difficult.  Will try.

The coloration of the Tufted Titmouse seen at right is a bit less complex.  Perhaps its coloration has less seasonal change?  Let's see below what was created in a recent sketch.

The ink underlay is a bit  strong.  Still drawing shows clear seeing  of plumage, form and coloration.  No comprehension of the bird's feet was necessary on my part to capture the photo.   

At this juncture, the admonition from a friendly preacher  comes to mind.  It went like this:

A good salesperson learns to recognize when the sale has been made and quit talking.  Same goes for the person delivering the sermon.  Time to close with a few wintry images.

 

Remnants of Summer

If I were to sketch the image below, there would be no detail in any crisp features past the windmill.  There is no benefit to that.

The Farm's Only Reminder

The camera looks, but never sees. 

If this stirs any interest, I am happy to share the resources that guided me.  I found it personally freeing to step past exhibit and only draw for myself.  As I began sketching, that was valuable lesson shared with me.

Best wishes for 2025.   

Paul Schmitt

Trees in Winter

Picture that you are in the National Gallery of Art , sitting with me on a large, comfy leather couch enjoying walls of lovely impressionist paintings.  A small group of visitors come in to the gallery and with machine-like efficiency make cell phone images of every painting on the walls, and then move on to the next gallery.  Look closely and you'll see a guard sigh.  The visitors have documented but never really seen any of the paintings.  Such a waste of Monet.  So many look, so few really see.  That's always been the primary use of photography.  My story today is about how I could move past documenting. Maybe it will inspire you.

It's been a goal of mine through 2023 to move towards really seeing.  With the leaves off trees in late fall, my images have studied trees.  Here's a tree in my friend Leo's beautiful woodlot.

Actually it  is two trees.  The one on the right began it's life growing on a fallen dead tree. After years, the dead tree disappeared leaving three legs arching to the ground.  On left, a younger tree grew up between two legs.  Maybe it's a three-legged tree with a "friend". Anyway, it is interesting and worth really moving from looking to seeing.  I did that by sketching it and adding watercolors.  I devoted about 2-1/2 hours going from a tree to a combination of particular parts that add  up these two trees. Once complete, this was not just a tree, but now it is an individual. 

There's a difference.  This experience is at the heart of what can move photography from look to see.  My time in the recent months has been a balance of sketching and photographing with the aim to shift images to seeing.  (No more sketches now, just photos representing deeper seeing.  I find it easier to draw when no one gets to see my mistakes.   Also, working in ink taught me to ignore errors and just keep moving forward.)

Here is a scene from along Rock Creek in Washington, DC.

The beech trees are tenacious.  They take hold on top of the rocks and send roots around all stony barriers.  Removing all color often removes distractions to really seeing.  (Consider this a portrait and maybe it will influence family snapshots you make?)

Still along Rock Creek on an explore one morning, there is this fallen tree washed into the creek.  The reflection of the tree in the foreground caught my attention.  Typically, my eye begins exploring at the strongest contrast, which in this case it was the tip of the dead tree at the reflection.

What follows is a simple image that I first sketched with much attention to the textures of the huge oak tree in the fore. 

The tree textures in the middle ground also were sketched in detail.  This is also in Rock Creek Park.

There are also times where color deserves attention.  On a post-Christmas wander in Leo's woods, I spotted a sulfur colored fungus on a decaying beech stump.  It's a good example of moving from look to see.  First, I needed the distance to be de-focused.   Next, the subtle greens and rusty leaves seemed so much of the story that monochrome was out of the question.

I made over 40 images of this before I was happy with the background.  The stump needed to be separated from the hemlock to the left and beyond that, the rest needed to be blurry.  That's the way I will sketch this for a watercolor.  

The above was of such deep involvement that I lost all sense of time. That's a real benefit of learning to really look deeply. It's a type of Zen (seeing) that I first discovered in the National Gallery.  I am doing more sketching now than photographing,  yet when the camera is involved the influence of drawing with pen on paper is strong.

As I write this, the long range weather forecast uses the word snow.  I'm excited to have the simplicity of snowy ground, but it is unlikely I will find it possible to hold a pen and draw with cold fingers.  My seeing will only move to drawing once inside.  

My hope is that there is a mix of entertaining images plus useful ideas.

Best wishes for 2024.

Paul Schmitt

My Gear: Getting Back to Basics

When I was looking at best images for June, there was seemingly a strong mismatch.  I think it reveals a lesson that applies beyond photography to avocations like gardening, fishing or (shudder) golf. Let's call it getting back to basics.   Maybe big versus little lens?

I began in June at an apple tree loaded with fresh blossoms.  I know that every May, Baltimore Orioles arrive to feed on small caterpillars hiding in the center of the blooms.  My gear is a 500 mm f/4 lens, with a 1.4x multiplier to push the lens to 700 mm focal length.  It's supported by a rugged tripod. Overall it weighs 17 pounds.  A monster to carry, but it does what no lightweight setup can do.  The result keeps me ignoring the hassle. 

This image speaks to me about the oriole's elegant posture, colorful markings and his faithful memory of where and when to find the apple trees

Sometimes,  I just want to explore for new beauty without anything complicated.  Enter an entry-level camera with the basic 50mm kit lens that matches the first camera I used 36 years ago.  It only weighs 2.3 pounds.  One morning in June, I looked outside and wanted to explore this blooming pink dogwood.  I saw only two colors, hot pink and spring green, a perfect complementary pair.   Here, I see a bright, friendly member of my garden that washes away winter. 

The little Canon R and inexpensive 50 mm lens is often in my day-pack for hiking.  It offers simplicity and satisfaction.

Still, I am drawn back to the big lens.  I know that the little camera tests my skills and pushes my creative perception.  But, I am drawn to finding beautiful birds.  So, after the Orioles are gone farther north, I continue to look for situations that demand the big Canon lens.  There sometimes are Scarlet Tanagers, for instance, and when they sing it is magical.

The male is proud and driven by his genes to sing for unseen females.  His head turns just enough for the sun to illuminate his eye.  Again, red and green complementary colors, background blurry for the image to be all about the bird.  Listen to a tanager song on the internet to know more of what the image feels like to me.  But, let's get back to simplicity.

I believe the little camera plays a role in keeping me creative.  I treat it as sketching.  Most recently, I carried only the small rig on a hike up a forest road in Arnot Forest.  I actually expected to mostly be using binoculars to find birds, but I kept getting derailed.  Here are three examples.  Each has a name which speaks to what I saw.

A Beacon in the Forest

The Wild Marigold Sisters

A Lone Wild Columbine Deep in the Arnot Forest

I think what I saw in the forest matches what I saw for the birds.  When one starts a new activity, photography or golfing for example, gear seems to be so important. It isn't.  Must have the same clubs Tiger Woods uses.  That's normal.  As soon as the gear is understood, it's how you approach the golf course or the images.  I think my use of the little "carry about" camera spills over into what I create with the monster lens.  I know what I create is more dependent on my mind's eye than the gear.  This is an image from my five year old iPhone 8.  The flowers look like a row of bells.

After the Rain

I am satisfied with the images it produces and find no need to upgrade the phone.  No, my gear is not mismatched.  They are excellent tools, and the iPhone 8 belongs, too.

Can you relate this to a personal avocation which gives you satisfaction? Baking, cabinetry, fly fishing or sewing maybe.

Paul Schmitt