My name is Brian. I draw and paint. And construct. Curious Paintings.

This is not scientific, but I suspect myself to be somewhat different from people’s typical  image of an artist: paint-splashing, cigarette-smoking, late-to-awake and poor-eating, martini-swilling, goatee-bearing, beret-wearing, Studebaker-driving, democrat-voting free-spirit.

Nope. I construct.

I construct images. Being somewhat results oriented, I hope to construct a painting out of each image, so, as a good contractor, once I have assembled what I think to be a good image in my head, I begin to assemble my resources and production processes.

Most of my art is reality-based, meaning part of my construction process involves taking photos as reference for the upcoming painting. Laying the foundation, to continue the growing-ever-weaker construction analogy.

If it’s going to be part of my Curious Florals series, I’m off to the florist for ideas. Even though I’ve already constructed the image, my eventual composition is still subject to the whims of the season as well as the local florist and FedEx deliveries. If it’s my Curious Seashores collection, it’s – duh – off to the beach. Crane Beach.

Kurious Kats is another story. Not much photo reference required but maybe go commando the day a new Kat is started.

Construction continues with tissues, alot of tissues. Vellum, or tracing paper, is another term for tissues and is where I begin to frame (I’m almost through with the bad building analogies, promise) the image. Here I work out the particulars of the layout – for instance, the relationship between a bottlecap and a flower – and how the image presents itself within its image area. In English, I suspect that means the size of the painting.

Once I’ve worked out the tissues, I transfer the image to watercolor paper. I’ve been using Arches hotpress watercolor paper since the beginning of forever, lately the 300 lb. bright white, as the heavier paper is reluctant to warp under the heaviest, most repeated watercolor washes (plus, the heavier weight makes my paintings feel more important.)

And then watercoloring begins. I find watercoloring akin to herding cats, you never know what you’re going to end up with. At least I don’t.  The only commonality I experience in moving from one watercolor to the next is my typical reaction to each: WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?

So . . . I start with a careful construction and risk all that with my free-associative lack-of-true-watercoloring-skills d’enouement. In a Bambi-Meets-Godzilla type of way, it’s Anal-Retentive-Meets-Alice Cooper.

Yet watercolor is watercolor, it’s translucent, it’s two-dimensional light, it can float above the surface, you think you can see through it into the next room. Fun.

I finish roofing (sorry, last one) the image by highlighting and detailing my painting with colored pencil. The hardest, thin lead pencils, as I’m not happy unless I’ve articulated my image to a fare-thee-well. I began my career as an illustrator, a discipline that dictates viewers understand what they’re looking at no matter how contrived, and I like to bring that same craft’s clarity to my artwork.

Art by construction. With a grenade thrown in by my watercoloring. Curious Paintings.

BC

– I vote liberal as well.  Democrat. So you were right on one point.

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