Shell Sketching

I hate vacations.  Ever since I was a teenager vacations have been a rush of activities sandwiched between long bouts of driving.  I usually had work to do during the vacation, or the kids needed (unwanted) chaperoning.  Whenever I was asked what I wanted to do for Father’s Day, or my birthday, I would say “nothing”.  I never got my wish.  Yes… my middle name is “curmudgeon”.

Nevertheless, I spent the entire month of February in Florida.  I just needed warmth and a change.  Since my wife had just died and my kids were grown I was able to indulge in my own form of doing nothing.  That is, I sat inside and sketched miscellaneous things in the apartment.

Now for most people Florida in the winter means lying in the sun by the pool.  Unfortunately, I don’t tan, I burn.  I’m a blue eyed blond (with great legs!).  Or rather, I’m a pasty faced, four-eyed nerd, Johnny Winter look-alike.  I went south to embrace the sunny warmth, but avoid the sunny sun. 

So, what did I draw/paint?  First, I continued a series of ink line sketches of the presidents for a future blog or book.  But I also used a conch as the subject of my extended sketching.  A conch has many admirable properties that make it interesting to sketch, the most obvious is that it doesn’t move.

As with all good still life subjects, a conch has a shape that affords an infinite number of forms seen from different angles and in different lights.  It is like life drawing where the human body is a complex form uniformly surfaced with skin.  Unlike the human form however, the conch presents a single solid object; no arms and legs to flap around in disconcerting ways.

The conch also presents a few different surface textures.  The outside is generally rough with growth ridges, while the inside is a smooth, polished surface.  The outside is a range of earth colors, while the inside transitions to a rich pink.  Even on the simple cylindrical side of the conch the pattern of ridges presents a challenge.

The most “rational” aspect of the conch is the spiral coil.  You might think this would be the easiest part to draw being a known geometry, but I found the cone shape spiral hard enough without adding the nubs of decreasing size.  Getting it right was fairly easy in plan or elevation views, but trying to reproduce that screw shape at a foreshortened angle was a bear.

As you can see I started with a graphite pencil on any available paper.  The results were interesting enough for investment in some color paper and Prismacolor pencils.  I eventually broke down and got a watercolor block and a simple set of colors and brush.

I am always touting the need to draw so as to see more deeply, but I don’t follow my own advice enough.  It takes a lot of discipline and effort.  Most people have a life, a career and a family, so drawing a cumquat for an hour can seem insane.  But, when you do have that “vacation” the effort can produce something worth keeping.

That's White...right?

Architects seem to love white.  Most homes have white siding or trim.  Most traditional buildings use limestone or a white marble.  And, although modern buildings are largely glass and can choose an unlimited range of colors for the paneling and mullions, a surprising number go with white or a "white" metal like brushed aluminum.  However, when it comes to representing the white surfaces of buildings the reality is that nothing is pure white.  Artists throughout history have known this intuitively, avoiding pure white, and instead dancing around the light blues, pinks and lavenders that you actually see.

Above is a photo from a visit to my family in Minnesota.  It isn't always winter in Minnesota, but it sometimes feels that way.  Anyway, note lack of any pure white in the pure white snow.  The color is entirely a mix of the late day warm colored sunlight, and the reflection of the blue sky.  And don't get me started on snow...

 A late day pile of the nasty white stuff.

The blue on the mountain is obviously snow, even though it matches the sky blue beyond...

I've cut out a square in this painting to show that even here the white snow isn't quite white.

And just to warm us up visually, this cherry blossom has only a few spots approaching pure white, but the effect is still experienced as white petals.

Actually the picture that got me thinking about the color (or non-color) white was a picture of a statue in the Wall Street Journal (March 24, 2012).  The Dying Achilles by Ernst Herter is carved from white marble, but the photo that was printed was dramatic and very colorful.

 It was all golds, creams, greys and blues - no white.  But the mind said "white marble".  I Googled the statue just to see what other photos would come up...

It is quite a range of colors; all of which scream (well, sometimes whisper) "I'm white marble".

So, getting back to the problem of architectural reality and architectural illustration, what is going on here?  The human brain learns early on that the raw visual data that it receives from the senses mean different things.

For instance, the light grey in the center of the photo above is a shadow on the white paper.  Your brain knows that even though the grey is the same shade as the grey board behind the white paper.  Similarly the shadow on the grey board is the same shade as the top of the black briefcase, but your brain knows that one is shadowed grey and the other is sunlit black. The context gives the additional information needed to construct reality, and it does it all without consulting the conscious, logical side of the brain.  You just know what your looking at, just as you know how to throw a ball without calculating the effect of gravity.

The perception of colors on a white surface is a matter of the color of the original light source and the color of the reflecting surface.  The above photo shows the strong green and red tones reflected by the adjacent green and red boards.  The triangle of white at the center is ever so slightly pink, but it is hardly noticeable due to the mid day sun overwhelming any reflected color.  If I had photographed at sunset the triangle would have had a noticeable golden cast, and the shadows would have had a contrasting cool cast.

So, when it comes to representing architecture I tend to avoid pure white (and neutral greys).  A cool shadow juxtaposed by a warm white is livelier than simple grey and white.  The pure white square in the watercolor sketch above gives you a frame of reference.

Interiors will have endless color variations as the white surfaces catch the reflections of other surfaces, and the spill from artificial and natural light.

You don't have to be blatant in your use of color.  A touch of blue in the shadows keeps the interest going while not taking away from the pure color accents.

Computer rendering programs allow you to warm up your interior lighting while cooling down your ambient exterior light.  Touching up afterwards in Photoshop or by hand can give further variation and believability.

The basic problem of rendering white surfaces is quite simple.  The potential variations however, are enormous. Allowing a certain degree of variation creates a more believable image, and the juxtaposition of the shimmering almost real and the white paper is magical.

Sorrow

The art of life is the art of avoiding pain, (and) the most effectual means of being secure against pain is to retire within ourselves.  - Thomas Jefferson

Linda, my wife of 27 years died late last year from complications in the treatment of Lymphoma.  In the months since her death I have been taking a crash course in grieving, and the blog has been on hold.  Thomas Jefferson was an idealist, and a retreat into "intellectual pleasures" is an ideal that few can afford, and fewer are equipped to accomplish.

However, everyone edits the painful events of daily life, creating something of value, and that is my goal.  The last quarter century is a rich mine of experiences which I intend to distil into an array of clear, glowing memories.

So... what can I make of the deep sorrow of the last few months?  As an architectural Illustrator I try to inject emotion into concrete, glass and steel.  But I have found that deep sorrow is an enervating emotion.  Quotidian tasks are mindlessly taken up, but anything demanding a fine tuned balance is exhausting.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
- Shakespeare

I cannot express my grief in architectural rendering, but I can in anything expressly human or human scaled.  A specific rendering job will take me away from the pain, but will not serve to distil the memory.  The human form and the personal objects of everyday life are a touchstone that will bring me home.

I said that I inject emotion into inanimate objects, but there is a practical lesson to be learned here.  Sorrow is an emotion that doesn't sell.  Grief is an intimate feeling that, in my experience prefers solitude.  When faced with death it is best not to preach, but instead to simply be available for support.  This is not an emotion to inspire grandiose plans, or paint glowing visions of the future.  The personal and intimate is the domain of sorrow and wisdom.  Other emotions can build buildings.

So, it is back to the drawing board.  Linda is gone, and I must carry on.  But she would not have had it any other way.  She once said that if I died before her that she would still follow me.  It sounded morbid and silly at the time, but I can see the wisdom now.  She took a piece of me with her, and some of her is living in me.  That is how life works, and it is only sad that it took this long for me to realize it.

Keep me away

from the wisdom

which does not cry,

the philosophy

which does not laugh

and the greatest

which does not bow

before children.

- Kahlil Gibran

Creativity: Blogs & Balance

I just listened to an interview of a journalist who began his career covering the freedom marches that were a part of the civil rights movement in the 1960's.  His anecdotes were fascinating, but as he talked about his work in the 40 years since then, I realized that he saw everything through a 1960's lens.  The world was black and white - not racially, but in terms of good and evil.  This made me wonder how much of our lives and worldview are set in our 20's never to be changed or even questioned.  The reporter was obviously smart and well educated, but he seemed to have lost his curiosity and creativity 45 years ago.  Or perhaps he had simply limited his curiosity and creativity to non-journalistic parts of his life.

This line of thought led me to consider the creative people I have known.  The pattern I see in my "artsy" friends is that they are very creative and adventurous in one part of their lives, but very settled and staid in other parts.  Several excellent artists I know have developed a "style" which is a constant in an otherwise scattered life.  Most architects have a style of design and drawing which is consistent, but is developed in a number of ways, like variations on a theme.  Imagine the bureaucrat that "swings" on the weekend, or the rock star who has a traditional home life.  It's all a balance.

I found the interview noted above on the internet.  And, since this blog and a large portion of the stuff I browse through each day is on the internet, this seems a good place to make an observation on creativity and blogs.  I remember reading a blog comment stating that "an essay was like a painting, but a blog was like a mosaic."  Now many blogs are simply electronic essays, but it is true that most have the granularity of a mosaic's field of different stones.  Each post is often a world of its own, but taken together, a blog of a hundred posts reveals a pattern that reflects the author's view of the world.  An essay perhaps starts with a worldview, while a blog ends with a worldview.  Or said another way, the essayist begins with a clear idea of the point he wants to make, while the blogger is daily groping around for an elusive theme which becomes more clear as the blog develops.

So, which approach is right?  Which is more useful?  It seems to me that it depends on what kind of world you are living in.  A world that is confidently coherent is an essay world, but a world that is redefining itself is a blog world.  And in the same vein, a person confident in their understanding of their world will tend to write in an essay-like way with arguments and bold statements.  A person trying to make sense of a new and uncomfortable situation will write in a scattered and questioning way, which will mature and develop over time.

And what about creativity?

I would say that creativity is more likely to develop in an uncomfortable, searching, blogger format, but will eventually be expressed in its highest form via the essay.

Aliens and Aphrodite

Two articles caught my eye recently. Both address the problem of design and beauty, which is central to my book.

Michael Mehaffy and Nikos A. Salingaros: The Architect Has No Clothes, in Guernica, an on-line magazine of art & politics, analyses the alienation of designers and the society that they serve...

Empire State Plaza, Albany, NY (wikimedia commons)

"Have you ever looked at a bizarre building design and wondered, “What were the architects thinking?” Have you looked at a supposedly “ecological” industrial-looking building, and questioned how it could be truly ecological? Or have you simply felt frustrated by a building that made you uncomfortable, or felt anger when a beautiful old building was razed and replaced with a contemporary eyesore? You might be forgiven for thinking “these architects must be blind!” New research shows that in a real sense, you might actually be right."

The authors go on to cite a number of studies that show that architects see the world differently than ordinary people (they call it 'Architectural Myopia'). To any second year architectural student this is obvious (and the parents of said student are seen as kindly but boorish). To any "ordinary" person who has dealt with an architect, it is equally obvious that said architect is interesting and perhaps brilliant, but has a curiously inhuman view of reality.

This is one of those times when "nurture", or the education of a person, makes a profound change that can overwhelm the natural human inclinations. It is also important to note that the most "out there" architects are below the age of 30. Older architects seem to settle back into a design attitude that takes into account the need for architecture to accommodate real people, while keeping an "architectural" sense.

The authors go on to date this Architectural Myopia to the early 1900's, driven by the industrial revolution and the breakdown of the traditional order. "Peter Behrens, the father of corporate branding, was given the challenge of developing the first architectural “branding” for the buildings of the German Electrical Equipment Firm AEG. He did so by using elementary industrial geometries, formed into a romantic and iconic expressive shape. The building itself was now a kind of billboard for the company—an attention-getting new product design in its own right. It was not a coincidence that three of his young colleagues went on to profoundly shape architecture in the 20th Century: Le Corbusier, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, and Walter Gropius."

I am not sold on their solutions to this problem (community involvement, etc.), but the article certainly nails the problem. Read the whole thing.

Old New York State Capitol Building, Albany, NY (wikimedia Commons)

Beauty Now in the Eye of the Algorithm - New image recognition technology judges photographic aesthetics looks at a new computerized way of recognizing "beauty"...



"New technology from Xerox can sort photos not just by their content but also according to their aesthetic qualities, such as which portraits are close-in and well-lit, or which wildlife shots are least cluttered."

This lead paragraph covers the strengths and the limitations of such a program. "Close-in", "well-lit", and "uncluttered" are all good rules to follow in getting a pleasing image. And I'm sure that an algorithm can be created that covers a dozen other rules. This computerized system is especially useful in portraits, where the focus is on a familiar thing, but the "beauty" is in studying the variation in detail.

What is missing here is that humans are drawn to more then a set of rules. Once the rules are established and applied regularly, someone will do the exact opposite, just to stand out. Eventually lots of people will be "rebelling", and you will find a new "style" that is surrounded by its own rules. The new style gets established, new rebels go to work, and the cycle keeps going. The Style magazines of the New York Times are a constant reminder of this never ending rebirth.

As much as I like new technology, I doubt that computers will ever "settle" the definition of beauty. However, using new programs to explore the question sounds like fun.

Hard and Soft Shadows

Back when I was just a "kid with a dream" I met the preeminent architectural perspectivist, Steve Oles.  He was one of those rare people who are both a genius and a gentleman.  The gentleman was soft spoken and courteous,  with a barely noticeable southern accent.  The genius manifested itself as we walked through midtown Manhattan, and he pointed out the various effects of light in the city canyons.

One of his comments regarded the play of sharp and fuzzy shadows cast by the tall buildings and closer structures.  I had seen the shadows before, but I hadn't "seen" them.  And so, some examples and comments on hard and soft shadows...

This watercolor shows sunset light casting shadows on the wall.  Soft shadows on the right from the window opening, and sharp shadows from the lamp and chair.

The same effect shows up in this pastel of the New York Public Library.  The soft shadow is cast by the building across 5th Avenue.

The soft gradation on the Woolworth Building above, assumes a low sun catching the tower top only, producing a strong articulation in the sunlight, and a more subdued modeling in the cool shadows.

The typical Beaux-Art elevation, like the entrance above, assumes sharp shadows cast by the elements of the building itself.

This rendering of the same building shows a complex interplay of soft and hard shadows, and window reflections.  It is a very un Beaux-Art effect.

Although soft shadows occur most naturally (and usefully) in exterior renderings, a large interior space with glass roof can produce the same soft shadow, which can also be very useful in framing and composing a rendering.

Whereas the sunlit areas show soft and hard shadows, the areas like the parking lot above produce ambient light shadows below and between the cars.  These are the "occlusion shadows" that show up as pools of soft darkness between objects in ambient light situations.

These shadows occur all around you all the time.  Everyone expects them without realizing it consciously.  So use that expectation to rearrange your composition and refocus your rendering.

See also Natural Spotlights.

Using Dark and Light 1

Illness in the family is keeping me busy, so this will be quick.

I saw this photo in the Economist magazine.

It reminded me that I should throw out some examples that use dark and light to define an object.  You might think that a blue industrial building against a blue sky would yield a building that "melts" into the background.  It can, but does not have to.  The sky has an amazing amount of variation, even if it is cloudless.  Try taking a series of photographs of a clear blue sky, pointing in all directions including straight up.  When you compare the photos side by side, you will notice a lighter horizon area, and also a lightening toward the area near the sun.  This is not new or earthshaking, but is good to know if you are illustrating architecture.

So, if you are interested in making a building stand out you can simply reverse the grading of light to dark so as to make it contrast with the background.  Again, simple and obvious, but all too often overlooked.

This pastel shows the same trick, except that (being an aerial view) it uses the light sky and darkish city streets as the foil for the tower's reversing values.

This sketch of a proposed cottage in Maine (from Arthur Guptill's Sketching and Rendering in Pencil) shows that anything can be used for the defining contrast.  In this case the sunlit wall at the right is nicely shown off by the dark trees behind. while the dark roof works against the lighter sky.

This watercolor of cherries in a bowl illustrates the natural shadows that can define such a concave shape.

In portraiture the same rule is often applied.  A figure in side or three-quarter lighting will have a dark and a light side.  Playing this off of a graded mid-tone background can pop the subject out nicely.

A reflective glass building can have a lot of complex patterns happening, but it still needs to stand out in some way.  I decided to try a dusk view for this tower in China, creating a glowing facade at the base, and a dark on light contrast at the top.

This pencil drawing of a highrise proposal at Canary Wharf in London uses a reverse value trick that goes back 100 years and more.  Just because it is old doesn't mean that it isn't effective.

In architectural illustration reverse values work best with long structures like towers.  It can also be used with long, low facades.  In the Rainbow Bridge US Customs Inspection Building at Niagara Falls, the sunlit end on the left is placed against a dark rack of clouds, while the other end is dark on light.  This helps to break up the necessarily long building, giving the image more interest.  The rainbow was my own "over the top" idea which was not in any way the responsibility of the architect or client.

There are no limits to the variations you can try once you start playing one plane off another.  And the strong value structure leaves you open to color experiments.

Of course you don't have to paint gradients across the entire image.  You can darken or lighten at the edges where it counts, and let the viewer's imagination do the rest.  The slight shading above the reclining nude defines the shape crisply, while the parallel dark and light lines anchor the figure to the ground.

This barely touches on the subject, so I imagine I'll be back sometime.