I will endeavor to briefly share a few insights as it pertains to some of the art history reading I’ve been doing these last few days.

It has been said that the only class liberated by the french revolution was the bourgeoisie. Fifty years later in 1848 two rounds of violent protests occurred, one in February and one, more impactfully, in June.  The bourgeoisie sponsored the state in the squashing of these rebellions resulting in a few thousand protestors being slaughtered. This is the political backdrop from which Courbet is and will be exhibiting paintings in the years ‘48, ‘49, ‘50.

In 1849 he won a prize at the salon for his painting “After Dinner at Ornanes”, the state purchased this painting.  Napoleon III, the nephew of The Napoleon, has recently ascended to the throne.  This was not a controversial subtext per se, although the underlying current of the rural peasantry and the oppressed urban classes could be perhaps read into this painting.  These groups, despite sharing class identity, had not unified in any substantive way.

The next year 1850 is when Courbet profoundly displays 3 paintings which are to be the beginning of the Avant-Garde.

• The Stonebreakers – Man as machine, man as tool
• Burian at Ornanes – intensely simple painting (tonally), awkward composition of figures
• Peasants of Flagy – peasants presented ambiguously (perhaps like the social classes of paris)

These pictures are profound in a few simple ways.  Their formal simplicity in lack of gradating values, their deliberate ugliness, their almost black and white tonal simplicity, their awkwardness and emotional flatness evoke the popular mass images accessible to the lower classes of the time.  To reference Greenberg, Courbet evoked the imagery of Kitsch.  Kitsch would be considered the culture of those who are too busy working to have a culture, culture.  This is any sort of cheap, easily produced and distributed form of entertainment.  What Courbet did that was so revolutionary is he evoked these formal qualities mentioned above in these massive historical paintings. 

This could all be summed up by Courbet’s use of a naive style. He makes his work relatable to the oppressed masses in a way that was unprecedented – this is the definition of Avant-Garde.

This is powerful because he makes his salon work more relatable to the lower classes thus empowering them and alienating its typical bourgeoisie public.  In short he turns the spectators into interlocutors (a person who takes part in a dialogue).  Mind you the political backdrop occurring at this time. 

Modernism versus the Avant-Garde

It seems to me that the Zizek writing is about our innate desire for the sacred. In the absence of anything to fill this void, we essentially fill it with trash, but the point is it needs to be filled and even more so we need to assert that this void exists to begin with.  For many centuries art filled this void (the sacred) with many “traditionally” understood beautiful art objects, including many naked and partially naked women.  The great illusion that representational painting implied was not of rendering space but that these beautiful women could be had.  Courbet comes along and with this painting “The origin of the world” gives you, front and center, that.  This is desublimation according to Zizek, in that he takes what has been elevated to the sacred (sublimation) and undermines it, demotes it, to the ordinary, but not just that the abject and the disgusting.  This is what happens Zizek argues when the void is filled with the object such that no space is able to exist and thus the plane is broken.  Zizek asserts that the sublime occurs in the space between the object and the void.  In our contemporary age we elevate all sorts of “stuff” to fill the void thus christening it as sacred.  But the point for me is that something needs to be sacred.  He uses coke, or even Coke Lite as an example. 

The last point to work through here is that the equal and opposite painting made by Malevich was the Black Square.  This is the inversion of Courbet’s painting.  The Black Square reasserts the void, which is what modern art does (or did).  Modern art was able to shock and thus challenge the system. Postmodern art only shocks, that is the system.

For me I can’t help but approach all this and not think about, given all this obtuseness (which actually is quite manageable and concrete), what paintings can (and should) be made in order to perpetuate the inertia of progress.  What paintings can be made that will shock via anti-shock. I have been spending more time reading than painting these last two weeks.  That is okay, but in the meantime I am using the break to assess and assert what it is (deep down under) that I want to paint.  What is the true me expressed via the materiality of paint? 

The post Paint Diary 9/10/2025 appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Many people will say yes, I am here as a contrarian to say…

Not necessarily, it depends. 

You may be surprised to learn that painting from life can be easier and more fun, all while yielding a more interesting painting.

Today, I will attempt to make that case.

Painting Tips, Tricks, Tools, and Hacks

I’m no stranger, nor am I opposed to using all the great painting tricks and tools that modern technology affords us.  Employing the use of grids, projectors, doodle grids, and transparent overlays in Photoshop all have their utility when it comes to painting murals and easel paintings.

I was surprised to learn that even the old masters employed technology to actualize their masterpieces centuries ago.  Devices such as the camera obscura (pictured above) and other types of cutting-edge lens technologies were used to assist artists put their initial sketches down quickly and proportionally. 

We’re not here to debate the legitimacy of using such devices to assist in the painting process (at least not today).  But i did want give these methodologies their moment before diving into the truly age-old technique of painting from observation, also known as painting from life.

Photographic Reference

Our entire modern existence, in large part, is mediated by the camera.  We all have these devices in our pockets, we just call them phones – but really, they’re cameras that are able to make and receive calls.  We should call them cameras and if you’re like me, you probably shoot more photos than you take calls anyway.

That said it’s easier than ever to snap great photos all day long. And it can be very tempting (albeit quite lazy) to think that a great photo will yield a great painting.  I’m not making the case that it can’t or that it won’t, just beware.

This is just one brief consideration when working from a photograph versus working from life: You may end up with an epic cache of paintings that ultimately read as photos rendered in paint.

The case for Painting from a Photograph – 

-because, of course, there is a very strong case to be made.  We are so lucky to have this technology, when I look at portraits from way back when, I sometimes think – “How did they do that (without using a photo)?” A painting that always makes me think of that is The Tiger Hunt by Peter Paul Rubens which I briefly discuss in this Episode 4 of Painting of the Week.

Here’s an example where working from a photo is essential: you’re painting a portrait and you don’t have someone willing to sit for you over the course of 10+ sessions, totaling 50 hours.  

Lucien Freud, the great contemporary English figurative painter (grandson of Sigmund Freud), famously painted all his figures from life, often having them pose for him over the course of many, many sittings.  No doubt his strict adherence to painting from life allowed his paintings to achieve a certain quality, but we’re not Lucien… 

So we work from photographs, and nevertheless, we are still able to achieve great results.

The Unlikely Problems of Painting from Photographs Creates

When working from a photo, the benefits are numerous.  Here are four I can think of:

1. The subject (person, landscape) is unaltered, the person doesn’t move, the sun doesn’t change
2. You are able to summon this reference image at your convenience – for example, painting a photo of a bright sunny landscape in the middle of the night in your studio
3. You can splice and compose many photos into one composition, haters will call this photobashing (it can work, it can also not work, you better be a good composer)
4. You have endless detail and information to reference for your painting, for example, you can 10x zoom in on your landscape and render each blade of grass (boring!)

It’s this last point that can be both your greatest weapon or the largest hindrance to having fun and making a great painting.

If you’re painting a portrait for a client…

..chances are they want some photorealistic thing with minimal artistic interpretation.  Really, they want you to download their photo in oil paint, which is cool; that’s a very real hustle, and in this case, having a photo to work from is crucial for success.

Pro Tip: Make sure the photo is flattering to the sitter(s) and every element of the photo makes sense, because if it doesn’t, then neither will your painting!

Enter: Painting From Life

We’ve established there is a time for rendering immense loads of detail, like when you’re contracted to be a paint download machine.

There is also a time to not get overloaded with detail and paint from a more intuitive place, painting the impression of the object and not the symphony of pixels that compose the photo.

The bouquet of flowers or the crystal skull photographed here are great examples.  Painting either of these from a photograph would have the potential to devolve into a lost-in-the-sauce-slog of a paint, which wouldn’t be very fun (because that matters too, right?)

However, when I paint these subjects from life, I am unable to get too lost in the weeds. This means that I need to use my brain and my creative faculties to find functional, convenient, and interesting solutions to the problems of needing to suggest lots of information, whilst not spending 100 hours rendering it.

Painting The Crystal Skull

In the case of the crystal skull, the number of planes of light dancing across the surface of this object would literally be insane to paint.  Of course, I could work from a photo and still try to maintain an impressionistic touch; however, I am way more likely to get stuck in the mud 2x-ing, 10x-ing, and 50x-ing the zoom on certain spots while proceeding to pick up smaller and smaller brushes.  Before I know it, I’m on my third sitting of this 8×10 inch panel, and maybe I have even achieved a photographic effect, but who cares.  That doesn’t mean it’s an interesting painting, or even a good painting. 

Flexing technique doesn’t make you an artist; it makes you a paint technician.

It’s About Having Fun  

If painting from a photo is fun, then who am I to say otherwise?  Painting is meant to be enjoyable, otherwise why do it?

I only want to dispel the conception that painting from life is inordinately challenging.  And while it can be a challenge it also forces you to adapt as an artist, making you a stronger painter when it is time to retreat to the studio and be the oil paint download machine that clients pay you to be.

If you have never painted from life, I encourage you to give it a shot. 

You may be surprised at what you see when you start looking.

The post Painting from Life versus Painting from a Photograph appeared first on Max Lowtide.

It was for me.

This fall will mark my six year anniversary of learning how to paint with oil.  In 2019, I bought my first set of oil paints from Plaza Art in Richmond, Virginia, a month before my birthday, at the great encouragement of my girlfriend.

Earlier that same year, I had been studying portrait anatomy online at New Masters Academy, and as soon as I got into oil, I immediately set to work on large and small portrait painting.  I remember telling myself that each year, around that same time, I would commemorate my oil painting anniversary by producing a self-portrait.

Well, that was a nice, romantic goal to set for myself, but I never followed through with it.  Not in those first years at least. 

My First Self Portrait – 2021- 

If you may even call it that – was a bag of goldfish, I very ironically titled “Self Portrait”.  This was me invoking that quintessential millennial ironic detachment we briefly discussed last week in the posting your art on Reddit blog.

I did that a lot back in the day – it’s called being too cool for school, and it doesn’t typically age well.

So my first self portrait was a bag of goldfish (In my defense, I have always loved the snack that smiles back).

My Second Self Portrait – 2023

My first true attempt at a self-portrait.  This painting was executed in an ambitious fashion and with great expectation despite its small size.  Looking at the painting now (after not having done so in a year), I effectively stole all the compositional devices from Rembrandt and the tonalist painters.

A strong direct light dramatically illuminates one side of the face, creating a high contrast portrait with distinct shadow shapes being cast over the opposite side of the face.  This effect results in a very dramatically lit portrait illuminated against a dark background.  If you look at Rembrandt’s paintings, they are almost all composed in this fashion.  I believe this lighting effect was used to communicate the light of God shining down on the sitter.

Knowing me, I was probably pursuing this device to achieve a more Jungian effect with the intent of establishing a tension between the light side and the shadow side.  In effect, rendering a self-portrait that would work on multiple levels.

The Importance of Likeness

I liked this painting initially, but was soon convinced otherwise by those around me.  People didn’t feel like it possessed a strong resemblance to me, myself nor I.  At the time, I was a bit too close and too attached to the painting to really step back and assess its quality with any sort of objectivity (to the extent that that’s even possible).  If I remember correctly, I was even going to give this painting to my mom (as one would), but I felt too insecure given this whole likeness debacle. 

A question worth asking is: 

In order for a portrait to be successful, does it need to possess a strong likeness?  

What do you think? Certainly a discussion for another day.

I unearthed this painting from my scrap panel drawer in order to document it for this blog, and despite the fact that the likeness is lacking (even cartoonish!) I like this painting and am not likely to bring myself to gesso over it anytime soon.

My Third Self Portrait – 2025

Finally, a self-portrait to call home about – or in this case, to write to the internet about.  This was painted from a photographic reference taken at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts.  Some weeks prior to staging the photo, I had been wandering around the Nancy & Rich Kinder Building of the MFAH when this painting by Jasper Johns caught my eye.

The work by Johns is titled Ventriloquist, and upon doing some research for this blog, I was surprised to learn a very relevant detail:

“When Abstract Expressionism was at its height in the 1950s, Jasper Johns returned to concrete imagery. He painted simple icons: flags, numbers, and targets. In Ventriloquist, Johns arranges such imagery to create a symbolic self-portrait.” (1)

Ventriloquist, by Johns, is a self-portrait

Very relevant. I did not know that until right now, and I certainly did not possess that information when I staged the photo and painted the portrait (I should probably read the wall labels more to sound more smart and stuff).

What drew me to stage my self-portrait in front of this piece specifically was the two green and black striped American flags stacked on top of each other.  These bastardized flags (at least that’s how I interpret them), in conjunction with the Burger King crown atop my head, felt like appropriate symbols to articulate an American identity in distress.

I’ll leave it at that and let you interpret the rest.

I don’t like it when people hold me hostage and unsolicitedly tell me about all the “profoundly” hidden symbols and layered meanings baked into their art. Someone held me hostage once and after that, I vowed never to do that to anyone.

The Art of Looking

It’s one thing to look at something, one thing to see an object and register it as a “thing”.  It’s a completely different exercise in looking to represent that “thing” in paint.  This act forces the observer (the painter) to study the object, the scene, or the sitter in an entirely new type of way.

When painting a self-portrait, be prepared to look at yourself in this same way.  Be prepared to spend 5, 10, 20 hours staring at a picture of yourself while you render every detail, every turn of form in paint (if you’re into that sort of thing).  It’s really neither a good nor a bad experience; it’s just an interesting one.

Since the advent of painting, artists have been representing themselves and those around them as a means to communicate the human experience.  No amount of generative AI, Photoshop, and selfie sticks thrust onto popular culture will render this tradition obsolete.

If you are a painter who has yet to embark on the introspective journey of painting a self-portrait, I highly encourage it.

It’s never too late to thrust yourself into the long, unbroken chain of artists who throughout time have represented themselves in art.

The post Painting a Self-Portrait appeared first on Max Lowtide.

First things first:

Likes are not a Qualitative Metric

Let us never forget that.

If you’re an artist working within a visual medium like painting, film or sculpture, then chances are you share your work on social media.  And chances are the social media application you’re most invested in is Instagram.  

Unless, of course, you have ascended to a certain stature in the art world and have fully transcended social media altogether. Contemporary artists like George Condo, Jenny Saville, and Gerhard Richter come to mind. Lucky them.

But it’s more likely you’re not in that class of artist (It’s okay, I’m not either.) –

– and chances are if you’ve been sharing your art on Instagram you’ve felt a big D: disappointed, discouraged, disheartened, and/or disenchanted. 

Perhaps it’s not very cool to admit this, but it’s okay.

It’s okay to care. 

The cultural paradigm amongst younger generations (mine included) of maintaining ironic distance from everything is likely not to yield anything to true substance or value.  

Yes, this ironic distance is safe, comfortable and ostensibly protects you from the anxieties of failure. (because if you never try how could you fail)

But for what? Don’t tell me (deep down) you wouldn’t want your work to end up in a museum or private collection one day.  

It’s okay to care. It’s okay to aim high.

Okay, back to my initial point about –

Posting Art on Reddit.

We know the process of art making and art sharing is a vulnerable one.  To entrust your delicate little painted baby to a winner-take-all-based algorithm can be intimidating to the point of paralysis (I made a drawing to illustrate this point – its pretty apt).  

But that isn’t a solution either.  Social media is a tool, a hammer.  You can build a house with it or you can hit yourself over the head.  It’s all about how you use it.  If you are in fact “trying to make it” (as an artist) it’s unnecessary martyrdom not to wield it.

Enter: Posting your Art on Reddit. 

For some years now I have used certain subreddits to share my work, sometimes with great success.  Like real material success, not just cheap dopamine hits, yielding painting sales and acquiring commissions.

Some of the subreddits in which I have found success and encouragement sharing my work include:

• r/pleinair – a small community where people engage about plein air paintings and related topics – fun!
• r/oilpainting – a larger yet still niche community centered around – you guessed it – oil painting.
• r/painting – quite large and very generally oriented around all things paint however a very real space where traction can be achieved.
• r/art – okay, I’ll be honest, this is an extremely intimidating and competitive space – but if you can get even a little traction in this subreddit your work will be seen by many (which is the point, right?)

If you’re really thirsty for work (hey, we’ve all been there) there are other spaces specifically for soliciting your creative talents.  In my experiences these subreddits have never yielded substantial results but hopefully your experience will be different:

• r/hungryartists – might as well take out an post on craigslist, at least if you’re a painter painter
• r/commissions – lots of nsfw digital art commerce happening here
• r/artcommissions – same

There are probably more subreddits in this same vein too, these are just the ones I’m familiar with.

When it comes to sharing Art on Reddit the Nicheyer the Better

As in the more of a niche you are able to satiate the better.  For example I recently shared an oil painting of a Whataburger Bag in all the standard communities but I also shared this same painting in the r/whataburger community with some pleasantly surprising results.  I even made a connection with another oil painter here in Houston.

Needless to say this made me feel good.  It’s okay to seek encouragement and positive reinforcement in your creative practice.

So when it comes to sharing your art on reddit – get nichey and shoot your shot!

This brings me to my last point:

The Difference In Communities on Instagram and Reddit 

I’m not a sociologist, nor am I an anthropologist. I’m not any sort of ‘ologist at all.

That said, I’m not making any claims about these communities at large other than what I’ve experienced in my own narrow lane of inhabiting these spaces.

Instagram has become such a social behemoth that people are quite stingy about sharing other peoples work, commenting/engaging and just generally being at all generous with their coveted social credit pixels.

It’s true, you know it’s true.

Chances are you’re stingy too and it’s okay because I also am (Most embarrassing admission of all) .  I’m not sure if this applies to other corners of Instagram but certainly the ones dominated by painting, gallery painting, mural painting and graffiti are really nothing more than cool guy (and girl) sports.

It is what it is.  “Likes” became a very real commodity and people ain’t giving them out for free.

Reddit is not that.

At least it has not been in my experience. Maybe some communities are, but not the painting-centric ones I’ve engaged in. Reddit has a more encouraging spirit. People aren’t hording social-cache.

It’s almost like Instagram is capitalism and Reddit is socialism.  One app is a legit winner-take-all format designed to alienate while the other is a space mediated by excessive amounts of rules whilst ultimately predicated on serving a community.

It’s not a value judgement as much as it’s an observation.  I mean they don’t both steal your data anyway let’s not be too idealistic here.

The Point Is 

If you’re an artist feeling fatigued by the necessity of existing on Instagram consider sharing your art on Reddit too.  That’s all.

And never forget that regardless of the platform “Likes” – “Upvotes” – “Kudos” are not qualitative measurements of your value as an artist or a person.

If it makes you feel any better Matisse, Van Gogh and Pollock didn’t get any “likes” either – at least not initially.

The post The Artist’s Guide to Sharing Art on Reddit appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Short answer: yes, probably.

Honestly, I’m surprised it took them this long.  And by them, I mean the City of Houston or whatever subdivision of the city (department of transportation?) received the contract.  Whatever municipal department it is, my sense is that they probably have a handful of unfinished projects currently stagnating all over the city that they should attend to too.  

Imagine having 10,000 incomplete commissions in your studio (all of which you’re obligated to complete), and then you say yes to another one.  Some version of that is surely what is happening here; however, I lack the bureaucrat-speak, nuance, and frankly, the personal investment in this city to care to learn more.  Nevertheless, someone is getting paid.

The point is:

The Writing was on the Wall.

And everybody knew it.  For the last few years, but especially in the last few months, many of the conversations I had with both artists and passersby at Houston Graffiti Park were centered around acknowledgements of the impending conclusion to this public art haven.  

That acknowledgement also fostered a sort of reverence and appreciation for Graffiti Park in a way that unified people, much like how the art did. This one square block was a true anarchic refuge in a city obsessed with rules, regulations, right angles, and beige colored walls. 

I mean, c’mon.

Can people have one true space to express themselves? One where you don’t need approval from the neighborhood HOA to change the color of your front door, or a permit to shoot a music video while taking a colorful graduation photo?

Nope.

The Uniting Power of Art.

That was my ultimate take-away from participating and experiencing Houston Graffiti Park after all these years.  A lot of the paintings were bad, some were really bad, but what always impressed me was that the people who enjoyed the space didn’t care.  All types of people: Houstonians, out-of-towners, really every single demographic of person, would come visit the park and take photos in front of the colorful walls.

To witness this phenomenon for years served as a concrete reminder of the power of art to unite.  The murals really did bring all types of people out, and they didn’t really seem to care about the quality of the work either.  

As an opinionated art snob from the East Coast, I always found that detail to be very interesting.

My First time painting at Houston Graffiti Park…

…was as soon as I first moved to Houston in 2017.  I hadn’t developed my studio painting or oil painting practice, and I was hopelessly obsessed with painting walls, murals, and illegal murals (graffiti?) because I didn’t have any other painting outlets at the time.  I would ride my bicycle around the city (As my readers know, I still ride my bicycle around to paint), looking for spots.  Needless to say, when I saw Houston Graffiti Park for the first time, I knew I would paint there and probably went back that same week to do so.

I don’t even think it was called Houston Graffiti Park yet; it was mostly referred to as the Meridian, and you could still go in the building.

I didn’t know any painters in Houston at the time and a local muralist who saw me painting (whose name I will not name) approached and told me that some crew held down that section of the wall (the North facing side) and that I was going to get my ass beat for painting there.

“Okay, thanks dude, I’m already halfway done with this piece.”

I didn’t care, I finished my piece.  The ultimate irony, however, was that I ended up becoming friends with “that crew” of painters years later and would continue painting that same north-facing side for almost a decade.

My Second, Third, and Fourth Times Painting

These were slightly less memorable, probably between the years 2019-2022, and not worth spilling too much digital ink over.  At one point, I was fixated on painting dog heads on human bodies (don’t worry, this was a short-lived phase).  I also remember painting a composition on the far right-hand side of two teens in some abstracted city-scape environment.  

I can’t find a picture of that painting, and I’m very okay with that.

The point is that this was a place to experiment, to explore, and to push creative limits without any of the stresses and pressures that often come with painting in the urban environment.  Houston’s Graffiti Park was not the most formative space for me in my early painting career, but it was an important one.  And it saddens me that these new generations of aspiring wall painters will not have a “safe space” to practice, experiment, and diss the murals.

Because, after all, there are really so few places to do that.  This city, this state, and really this country as a whole are so rigid and uptight about the act of putting paint on the walls.

My Macro-Culture Graffiti Rant

I’ll keep this one short, but I set myself up too well not to express this point: most of the rest of the world is more open to putting color on walls. Period.  Even other “Western cultures” like Western Europe are more open to it.  For example, tens of kilometers alongside the highways coming in and out of Paris are lined with absolutely fire letter-based graffiti and characters.  

This is unfathomable to the American mind.  And don’t even get me started on the countless miles of trackside train line graffiti and high-level piecing that connects the entire European continent.  And that’s just uptight Europe.

The Latin world is on an entirely different level.  The notion of graffiti as being an “illegal act” doesn’t even necessarily exist.  Think about that.

All around the world, kids (and adults) can take to the streets (to varying extents) and explore their creative impulses without risking their freedom.  This isn’t the case here in the United States, nor in Texas, and no longer at Houston Graffiti Park.

What’s next for Houston post-Houston Graffiti Park

Honestly, I have no idea.  Less sweet graduation and car pictures in front of colorful walls.  

Less diverse groups of people crossing paths each weekend as a result of an innate and shared interest in public art.

Fewer public, legal spaces to paint, which does matter to me and my comrades on the front lines hustling murals and pushing our creative potential.

This is, after all, just one more underdeveloped patch of earth being squeezed for all that it’s worth.  One thing I do know is that it will be replaced by something less memorable.  One less thing to do when you visit Houston.  

One less place to flex your wip.  (wip or whip? – If you know, leave me a comment.)

But the people will prevail.  Houstonians will find new and creative ways to express themselves in the subconscious pursuit to find meaning in the concrete jungle that is Houston, Texas.

The post A Love Letter to Houston’s Graffiti Park appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Ambitious Beginnings

At the beginning of this year, I decided I would aim to paint 100 plein air paintings here in Houston, Texas. Within the first few weeks, the over-ambitiousness of this project became immediately apparent. To hit 100 plein air paintings, I would need to execute approximately two paintings each week for the entirety of the year.  

My (Revised) 2025 Plein Air Ambitions

I decided to scale it back to 50 plein air paintings this year, and that felt more manageable. Simultaneously, I had also set this goal without owning a car. All my Houstonian friends and comrades know this city can be quite challenging, to say the least, without one.

I’m not from here, and for that reason, I still have the stench and entitlement of the East Coast on me, where I grew up not needing or wanting a car, but over time, I’ve had to let that go, adopting the axiom:

“If you can’t beat them, join them.” (aka go into debt)

Nevertheless, innovation comes from limitations. So, with a still ambitious (albeit less ambitious) goal of 50 Houston paintings and no car, I had to improvise to traverse the city.

Without boring you with details: I bought a back rack from Houston Bicycle Co., attached an inordinately large milk crate to it, and voilà. I more or less had enough real estate on the back of my bicycle to schlep the most essential painting supplies.

My Plein Air Painting Kit

My very utilitarian, no-frills plein air kit consists of:

• A very average tripod
• A very not average (in fact, really awesome) easel, or pochade box, made by Ugo Plein Air
  

I really do love this product. Some years ago, I had initially bought the small size and quickly grew out of it. You’re quite limited in the size of the structure you can paint on, and the palette is very small, at least for an amateur plein air painter like myself, to manage.

All that to say…

I bought a large Ugo Plein Air easel, and I haven’t looked back since.

This piece of equipment fits seamlessly into my backpack alongside:

• Gamblin oil paint
• Brushes (organized in a neat little protective brush carrier)
• Gloves
• Paper towels
• Maybe even a little viewfinder (assuming I don’t forget it in the studio)
  

Last but Not Least

Let’s say you make a painting you love. I’ll be honest, this happens very infrequently, but if you do accidentally make something good, you need to be able to transport it back home safely.

This is where I got lucky, and the pieces fit together seamlessly.

I have a large plastic bin that my panel, or in this case, my Arches oil paper, fits into. What’s amazing is that this plastic bin fits perfectly into the aggressively large milk crate I described earlier.

This way, once my panel or paper is painted, I can:

1. Put it in the bin
2. Put the bin in the crate
3. Put the backpack with all the painting stuff on top of it

Double voilà.

I’m set up for success in case I need to ride 10 miles back home without damaging my painting.

Plein Air Painting Gear: Check!

We’ve explored the gear and some of the material logistics that go into executing this type of painting mission in Houston.

Now, the somewhat anticlimactic part: I didn’t even end up riding that far to execute this mission.

I happen to live very close to Rice University, so I essentially just rode across the street to the front of the campus (which faces Hermann Park) and painted in the small grouping of woods they have in front of their campus.

A Real H-Town Forest

Despite my proximity to this location, I was quite intimidated to paint such a dense scene. It’s impossible to paint nature tree-for-tree or branch-for-branch in this type of setting. The landscape must be interpreted, and therefore it’s important not to get too lost in the sauce or in the weeds (whatever your preferred metaphor).

Practically speaking, I implement this into my painting practice by making sure I look at my canvas (or in this case, Arches oil paper) more than I look at the scene itself. This is really important. I feel that when artists work from photos, as I have with these portrait painting commissions, they often look at the photo more than the actual painting and thus don’t scrutinize the painting as such.

Fast and Loose

Because I kept the Gamblin paint really thin with Gamsol and painted really loose, I was able to immediately establish an interpretation of the scene, aka, my own painting, as opposed to tethering myself to each detail, which would have made for an absolutely tedious and failed painting.

In the plein air painting video, you can see how my sketch starts very free and loose, as in, there is not one single mistake that could be made (and thats fun!). From there, I started mixing colors freely and blocking in all the white space.

For me, the very first thing I want to do when beginning a painting is:

Remove all white space.

This way, I can start judging the relationships between values and colors against themselves, not against the white of the canvas. If I have lots of white exposed, then every color I put down will look very dark in relation to that bright white, and it will throw off the entire key of the painting.

The Rest Is (Art) History

I blocked in the painting, got rid of all the white space, and tried to interpret the scene as I experienced it while not getting too lost in the paint sauce.

I spent approximately 90 minutes on this painting, ultimately refining and refining until I was happy with the product. Mind you, this is ultimately to live as a sketch, not a finished piece. If I had been in love with the composition (which I wasn’t), I would have taken this piece home and used it as a reference for a larger, more finished work.

However, I didn’t feel too attached to what I created here and was very happy to leave it as a sketch to live in infamy in a notebook that will only be opened about once a year.

Thanks for tuning in, happy plein air painting! 

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Painting of the Week – Episode 8: Henri Matisse

Welcome back to another delightful Painting of the Week! This time, we’re diving into the colorful, bold world of Henri Matisse. Known for his unapologetic embrace of beauty and simplicity, Matisse challenges us to rethink the purpose of art. Can a painting exist purely to delight the eyes? Let’s unravel the brilliance of this stick-figure masterpiece and explore the questions it raises about art’s role in our lives.

Can Beauty Alone Be Enough?

Matisse was no stranger to criticism. In his time, critics dismissed his work as “decorative,” a term meant to undermine his artistry. Yet, Matisse owned this label with pride, boldly stating that his art was meant to be relaxing—a visual escape for both blue-collar and white-collar workers.

Think about that for a moment. Isn’t there something refreshing about art that simply makes you feel good? This painting exudes tranquility with its flowing lines and soothing palette, like a breath of fresh air. It doesn’t demand you solve its mysteries or grapple with existential truths. Instead, it offers a moment of peace in a chaotic world.

So, here’s the big question: can great art exist just to look pretty? Matisse seems to think so, and honestly, he might be onto something. Sometimes, life’s most profound experiences come from the simplest pleasures.

Stick Figures: Simplicity or Too Much?

Let’s talk about those figures. They’re, well… glorified stick figures. But somehow, Matisse breathes life into them. These minimalist forms feel animated, almost dancing across the canvas. Their simplicity invites you to focus on the essence of movement and emotion without getting lost in details.

Now, here’s the aesthetic debate: how minimal is too minimal? For some, these stick figures are just enough to convey humanity. For others, they might teeter on the edge of abstraction. Where do you draw the line? Do you crave more detailed realism, or can you embrace this stripped-down representation of the human form?

Personally, I find their simplicity charming. They’re like a universal language—easy to understand, yet endlessly captivating. It’s a reminder that art doesn’t need to be complex to be impactful.

The Power of Deconstruction

What makes Matisse’s work so intriguing is how he deconstructs traditional art forms. These figures might be simple, but they’re far from basic. They walk the line between representation and abstraction, challenging us to reconsider what makes something “real.”

Look closely, and you’ll see the genius behind the simplicity. The curves of the figures suggest movement, while the bold outlines create a sense of energy. It’s as if Matisse distilled the essence of life into its most fundamental shapes.

This leads to another question: how far can an artist deconstruct a figure before it stops feeling human? Matisse pushes the boundaries, inviting us to explore how much—or how little—detail we need to connect with a work of art.

Art for Art’s Sake

One of Matisse’s most radical ideas was that art doesn’t have to carry a deeper meaning. It can simply exist to be beautiful. This concept, often summarized as “art for art’s sake,” remains controversial.

For Matisse, creating art was about offering a sanctuary—a moment of joy and relaxation in a hectic world. His paintings don’t shout; they whisper. They don’t demand; they invite. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

Imagine coming home after a long day and seeing this painting on your wall. It wouldn’t ask you to analyze it or solve its riddles. Instead, it would greet you with a sense of calm, like an old friend saying, “Hey, it’s okay to just breathe.”

Your Taste, Your Rules

At the heart of this episode are two deeply personal questions: what do you want from art, and where do you draw the line?

Do you need art to stir your soul and challenge your worldview, or can it simply make you smile? Can stick figures convey as much emotion as a meticulously detailed portrait? There’s no right or wrong answer—just your preferences and how they evolve over time.

Matisse reminds us that art is a conversation, not a lecture. It’s about what resonates with you in the moment, and that’s always subject to change.

Wrapping It Up

Henri Matisse’s work may seem simple, but it’s anything but shallow. With this painting, he challenges us to embrace beauty for its own sake and rethink what we consider “great” art. Whether you’re captivated by his stick figures or drawn to his bold colors, one thing is certain: Matisse knew how to spark a reaction.

So, what’s your take? Do you find this painting relaxing, or does its simplicity leave you wanting more? Share your thoughts below, and stay tuned for more artistic explorations in the next Painting of the Week!

Matisse believed in making art that speaks to everyone—what does it say to you?

The post Painting of the Week Episode 8 : Henri Matisse appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Painting of the Week – Episode 7: Sainer ETAM’s Masterful Mural

Welcome to another vibrant episode of Painting of the Week! This time, we’re stepping beyond the canvas and into the world of murals. For Episode 7, we’re diving into the mesmerizing work of Sainer ETAM, a Polish artist whose murals have become landmarks in the global street art movement. If you’ve ever been awestruck by the scale, detail, and brilliance of urban murals, this is your stop. Let’s break down what makes Sainer’s work so captivating, specifically one mural that blends flatness and depth like an artistic tightrope walk.

The Woman Who Steals the Spotlight

Let’s start with the heart of the mural: the woman’s portrait. Despite being painted in subdued, desaturated tones, this figure commands attention. Your eyes naturally gravitate to her, bypassing the bold splashes of saturated colors and striking contrasts surrounding her. That’s a testament to Sainer’s skill—he understands how deeply humans are wired to seek out faces. The woman’s quiet presence anchors the chaos, pulling you in and holding your gaze amidst a whirlwind of competing visual elements.

From her, your eyes start to wander. Where do they go next? That’s where Sainer’s mastery comes into play. The mural feels alive, almost like it’s guiding your eyes through its intricate maze of shapes and textures.

A Perfect Balancing Act: Depth vs. Flatness

What makes this mural so unforgettable is its seamless blend of depth and flatness. At first glance, you’re drawn into a rich, layered world. A goose overlaps the woman, which overlaps another bird, which leads your eyes further back into the distance. It’s like stepping into a portal that keeps pulling you deeper and deeper.

But just as you’re getting lost in the illusion of depth, BAM—you slam into a wall of flatness, as sudden as Wile E. Coyote hitting an anvil. In the supposed “background,” there’s a super-saturated, ultra-simplified landscape that feels like a 2D collage. Trees are reduced to basic shapes, and a body of water is nothing more than a bright blue oval. It’s minimalism at its finest, where the smallest suggestion transforms into a whole scene in your mind.

This deliberate clash between depth and flatness is what gives the mural its energy. It’s almost a game: one moment, you’re immersed in realism; the next, you’re jolted into abstraction. It keeps you engaged, constantly shifting your perspective and challenging your understanding of the space.

Landscapes as Both Abstraction and Representation

One of Sainer’s most genius moves is how he uses landscapes as a bridge between abstraction and representation. That background could be two things at once: a beautifully abstract arrangement of shapes or a literal landscape with water, trees, and hills. This duality lets you decide how you interpret the mural.

It’s no accident that Sainer’s landscapes feel like this. He’s spoken about how he uses them as a “vehicle” to blur lines between reality and imagination. This mural is the perfect example—one moment you’re marveling at its bold graphic shapes, and the next, you’re mentally strolling through a dreamy countryside.

It’s this balance of control and freedom that makes the mural so unique. You’re not just looking at art; you’re interacting with it, finding new details and interpretations every time you take it in.

The Dance Between Chaos and Clarity

Zooming out, the mural becomes a whirlwind of contrasts. There are identifiable elements—the woman, the birds, the house—but they’re set against a surreal, almost delirious environment. The house, for example, is sliced in half and pasted against that abstract landscape, like a puzzle piece from another dimension.

This deliberate “chaos” isn’t overwhelming. Instead, it feels like a carefully choreographed dance. Every element, no matter how wild, has its place. The mural invites you to move between representation and abstraction, always balancing clarity with complexity.

For instance, the birds feel lifelike but are also part of the mural’s graphic design. The woman feels grounded in reality, yet she exists in this dreamlike world where the rules of space and perspective are turned on their head. It’s art that makes you think, while still being accessible and enjoyable to just look at.

Why Sainer’s Work Is Timeless

Sainer’s ability to balance opposites—depth and flatness, chaos and order, abstraction and representation—gives his work a timeless quality. It’s not tied to a specific trend or style; it’s something that resonates on a deeper level. You could stare at this mural a hundred times and still find new things to appreciate.

What’s even more fascinating is how Sainer invites the viewer into the creative process. By reducing elements like the landscape to their most basic forms, he’s not just showing you what he sees—he’s encouraging you to imagine and fill in the gaps yourself. It’s a conversation, not a lecture.

Your Turn: What Do You See?

Art like this sparks different reactions in everyone. Do you love the way Sainer blurs the line between abstraction and reality? Or do you find the contrasts too jarring? There’s no wrong answer—that’s the beauty of it.

For me, this mural feels like the perfect marriage of bold experimentation and technical brilliance. It’s a piece you can appreciate both intellectually and emotionally, whether you’re analyzing the composition or simply admiring its vibrant energy.

Wrapping It Up

Sainer ETAM’s mural is more than just a painting on a wall—it’s a masterclass in storytelling, technique, and creativity. From the woman’s captivating portrait to the surreal landscape that challenges your perception, every element is a testament to Sainer’s genius.

So next time you see a mural, take a moment to really look at it. You might find yourself drawn into a world as layered, intriguing, and timeless as this one. Who knows? Maybe you’ll start seeing the world around you in a whole new way.

What’s your take on this mural? Let me know your thoughts, and stay tuned for more explorations into the colorful world of art!

The post Painting of the Week Episode 7 : Sainer appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Van Gogh and the Japanese Influence: A Revolution in Art

Welcome to another light-hearted dive into the colorful world of art! In this episode, we’re focusing on one of the most transformative periods in art history and how it shaped the work of one of the most beloved artists of all time: Vincent Van Gogh. With Van Gogh as our guide, we’ll explore how Japanese art captured European imaginations in the 19th century, leaving an indelible mark on the modern art movements that followed. Let’s get started, shall we?

The East Meets West: A Perfect Storm of Inspiration

Picture this: it’s the mid-1800s, and Japan, a nation that had been largely closed off to the world, suddenly opens its borders. With this historic shift, Japanese art, particularly woodblock prints, began to flow into Europe, captivating collectors and artists alike. These prints were unlike anything Western artists had seen before—bold, flat compositions, striking patterns, and an almost ethereal use of space. It was as if someone had switched the channel on centuries of Western painting styles dominated by dramatic light and shadow.

This influx of Japanese art couldn’t have come at a better time. European artists were itching to break free from tradition, and these prints provided exactly the kind of fresh perspective they were looking for. For Van Gogh, this new way of seeing was nothing short of revolutionary.

A Tale of Two Worlds: Caravaggio Meets Hiroshige

To understand just how groundbreaking this shift was, let’s compare two iconic styles: Caravaggio’s dramatic Western masterpieces and the serene elegance of Edo-period Japanese prints. Caravaggio, a titan of Western art, was all about dramatic lighting, deep shadows, and a painstaking effort to render three-dimensional form. His paintings almost leap off the canvas, demanding your attention.

Now, contrast this with a Japanese woodblock print. There’s no dramatic spotlight here—just flat planes of color, simplified forms, and a sense of balance that feels almost meditative. It’s a completely different language of visual storytelling. For artists like Van Gogh, encountering this new style was like discovering a secret portal to another dimension.

Van Gogh’s Master Copies: Borrowing Brilliance

Van Gogh didn’t just admire Japanese prints—he immersed himself in them, often creating master copies of works by renowned artists like Hiroshige. These weren’t mere reproductions; they were acts of reverence and learning. By recreating these prints, Van Gogh absorbed their techniques and wove them into his unique artistic voice.

Take, for example, one of his copies of a Hiroshige print. In this piece, Van Gogh mimics the flat, graphic shapes typical of Japanese art. The tree branches in the foreground lack the three-dimensional shading we’d expect in Western art. Instead, they’re bold and unapologetically flat. This was a style Van Gogh later made entirely his own, using it to infuse his landscapes with a dreamlike quality.

Another fascinating detail is how Van Gogh adopted a “drawing-like” quality in his paintings. His outlines became more pronounced, and his compositions more decorative. These choices weren’t just artistic experiments—they were deliberate nods to the techniques he admired in Japanese art.

Finding His Voice: Van Gogh’s Evolution

As Van Gogh continued to experiment, his work began to take on a life of its own. One of his later master copies shows him emphasizing patterns in a way that feels distinctly personal. The ornate patterns on a woman’s clothing in one painting, for example, are almost hypnotic in their detail. These patterns later became a hallmark of Van Gogh’s style, appearing in works like his famous portraits and still lifes.

By the time Van Gogh created his celebrated portrait of his art supply dealer, he had fully integrated Japanese influences into his work. The background of the portrait is a chaotic yet harmonious mosaic of Japanese prints, while the foreground bursts with Van Gogh’s signature directional brushstrokes. The result? A vibrant, flat composition that feels alive with energy.

Why It Matters: The Legacy of Artistic Borrowing

Van Gogh’s story is a testament to the power of artistic exchange. He didn’t just mimic what he saw; he transformed it. By blending Eastern and Western traditions, he created something entirely new, paving the way for countless artists to follow.

And here’s the thing: this process of borrowing and reinventing is at the heart of art itself. Every artist, whether consciously or not, builds on the work of those who came before. Van Gogh’s journey shows us that great art doesn’t happen in isolation—it’s a conversation that spans continents and centuries.

A Light-Hearted Takeaway for You

So, what can you take away from all this? First, don’t be afraid to borrow inspiration from unexpected places. Whether you’re an artist, a writer, or someone who just loves a good DIY project, there’s always something to learn from looking at the world through a different lens. Second, remember that it’s okay to mix things up. Sometimes, the most extraordinary creations come from blending the old with the new.

And finally, let Van Gogh remind you that even the most groundbreaking ideas often start with a simple act of copying. It’s not about where you begin—it’s about where you go from there.

Van Gogh’s love affair with Japanese art wasn’t just a passing phase; it was a defining moment in his artistic journey. By embracing a style that was so radically different from the traditions of his time, he found a way to express his own vision in a way that continues to resonate with us today. So next time you see one of his swirling, colorful masterpieces, take a moment to appreciate the layers of influence and inspiration that brought it to life. And who knows? Maybe you’ll be inspired to start your own creative adventure.

The post Painting of the Week Episode 6: Van Gogh appeared first on Max Lowtide.

Exploring the Iconic Wave: Hokusai’s The Great Wave of Kanagawa

Welcome back to another episode of Painting of the Week! Today, we’re diving into one of the most iconic images in art history – The Great Wave of Kanagawa, by the legendary Japanese artist Hokusai. You’ve probably seen this image countless times, whether on a mug, t-shirt, or even as an emoji. Yet, despite its widespread recognition, there’s so much more to explore when it comes to Hokusai’s work and the context in which it was created.

Grab a cup of tea and let’s dig deeper into the fascinating world of The Great Wave and the artist behind it.

A Peek into Hokusai’s Time and Work

Before we dive into the specifics of The Great Wave of Kanagawa, it’s important to understand the environment in which Hokusai created his masterpieces. He lived and worked during Japan’s Edo period (1600-1868), a time marked by a strict isolationist policy. For over two centuries, Japan was largely cut off from the rest of the world, with no foreign goods or ideas allowed to enter or leave the island. This isolation helped cultivate a distinct and rich culture, one that influenced Hokusai’s unique approach to art.  Despite Japan’s isolation, exciting artistic movements were bubbling up across the world, particularly in Europe.  Though Hokusai was unaware of modern art’s rise in the 19th century, his works, especially 36 Views of Mount Fuji, influenced many Western artists.  It’s fascinating that The Great Wave, created in the early 1800s, became one of the most recognized art pieces worldwide.

The 36 Views of Mount Fuji Series: More Than Just The Great Wave

Hokusai’s The Great Wave of Kanagawa is part of a larger series of prints titled Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji created between 1830 and 1832. It’s wild to think that this iconic wave is just one piece in a much larger collection of art. In fact, The Great Wave is only one of 36 views of Mount Fuji that Hokusai was commissioned to create. Imagine – there are 35 other stunning works that make up the series, each as beautiful and thought-provoking as the wave itself. Isn’t that incredible?

For many of us, The Great Wave is the first – and sometimes the only – image we associate with Hokusai. But as we’ll see, there’s a wealth of other images in the series, each offering a different perspective on Mount Fuji and the surrounding landscape. It’s a reminder that there’s always more to discover, even with the most famous works of art.

Mount Fuji: Always in the Background

When you look at The Great Wave, your eye is immediately drawn to the enormous, cresting wave in the foreground.  Mount Fuji quietly sits in the background, often overlooked amidst the dramatic wave, yet remains a constant presence.  In the Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, Hokusai shows varying perspectives of the mountain, exploring its relationship with land, water, and sky.  One favorite image brings Mount Fuji closer, creating an intimate composition while maintaining the awe-inspiring presence of the landscape.  Hokusai’s use of foreground and background creates a dynamic connection between the viewer and the scene, constantly shifting our perception.  It’s not just about the mountain itself, but about the place we occupy in relation to it.

The Water: A Dynamic Force in Hokusai’s Art

One of the most fascinating aspects of Hokusai’s work is his depiction of water. We all know The Great Wave for its dramatic, powerful depiction of the ocean, but did you know that Hokusai’s other prints in the series also showcase water in all sorts of dynamic ways? It’s true! Whether he’s capturing the calmness of a lake or the intensity of crashing waves, Hokusai’s treatment of water is nothing short of mesmerizing.  In Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, Hokusai shows water in various forms, from calm reflections to powerful crashing waves.

It’s this versatility in his depiction of water that makes Hokusai’s work so dynamic and engaging. Each print offers something new, making us reconsider how we view the natural world.  It’s also important to note the technical skill involved in creating these prints. Hokusai’s attention to detail, especially in his representation of water, shows his deep understanding of the elements. His waves not only strike visually but also capture the essence of movement and energy, a feat few artists have ever mastered.

Composition and Balance: Hokusai’s Artistic Genius

If there’s one thing that stands out in Hokusai’s prints, it’s his masterful use of composition.  Hokusai balances foreground, middle ground, and background to create depth, drawing the viewer’s eye across the image.  In many prints, Hokusai contrasts sharp foreground details with soft background elements, guiding the eye and creating harmony.  In another print, Hokusai contrasts defined boats in the foreground with an abstract background of distant figures and mountains.  The effect is both visually pleasing and thought-provoking. You can almost feel the vastness of the landscape and the separation between the immediate and distant. It’s a visual trick that works so well, creating a natural rhythm between the different layers of the scene.

Final Thoughts: Hokusai’s Lasting Legacy

Hokusai’s Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji is more than a beautiful collection; it’s a statement on humanity’s relationship with nature.  Through his landscapes, Hokusai urges us to reflect on our place in the world and our connection to nature.  The legacy of Hokusai lives on not only in Japan but across the globe. From The Great Wave to his lesser-known works, his prints have inspired countless artists and continue to captivate viewers worldwide. As we wrap up this episode of Painting of the Week, I encourage you to dive deeper into Hokusai’s work. Explore the Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji for yourself, and discover the many layers of meaning embedded in these iconic prints. Trust me – there’s so much more to Hokusai than meets the eye.

Thanks for joining me today, and I can’t wait to share more art stories with you next time. Until then, keep exploring, keep discovering, and most importantly, keep enjoying the art around you!

The post Painting of the Week Episode 5 : Hokosai appeared first on Max Lowtide.