The Heart of Watercolor– Luminosity

Our natural inclination is to mix color on the palette or, easier yet, use premixed color straight from the tube. Color is certainly more predictable that way. But the beauty of watercolor— luminosity, is best revealed when color is mixed on the paper. This is where watercolor quite literally shines! The transparent nature of watercolor allows light to pass through and bounce off the white of the paper. This is not a medium for the heavy handed. Those loose, delicate washes of color appear effortless, yet they require much of the artist wielding the brush. Watercolor practice will develop patience and the ability to focus. It will fine-tune all of your senses. And, it can show us how to live wide awake and paint with that vivid awareness. There probably will be moments of discouragement, but don't fret! The mingling of water, pigment and artist on the paper is a truly sublime experience that makes any momentary discouragement pale by comparison. Set aside desires for predictable outcomes and formulas to get them. Watercolor, like life, is full of surprises. It is the unexpected that makes it so endlessly captivating. Though modern pigments are crafted for longevity, the luminosity they impart has a decidedly ephemeral feel. I love that we mix earth and water as we paint and express what is most important to us. If you pause to contemplate the life of the colors on your palette, you see that you hold the whole universe on your brush.

When you made the chart of your primary colors, you learned how to deepen a color by glazing, or layering one stroke of color over another. The palette chart documented your pigments showing their hue, transparency and staining qualities. Now we'll use the same glazing technique to create new colors. Lay down a good sized stroke of each primary color.

We're going to mix secondary colors— orange, green, purple— by glazing with your three primaries. Are those strokes dry yet? Check with the back of your fingers. (The oil from the skin on your fingertips can transfer to your paper and create paint-resistant spots, so use the back of your fingers.) Now, paint a stroke of yellow over half of the dry red stroke. Where the two colors layer over one and other, you should see a nice glowing orange. Next, paint a stroke of blue over part of your yellow swatch. You should see green where they overlap. And last, paint a stroke of red over part of your blue swatch. Voilá! Purple!

Glazing is one of the most important watercolor techniques you can develop. It's key to building luminosity and depth. Of course you can also mix the secondary colors right on your palette— red + yellow for orange, yellow + blue for green and blue + red for purple. Mix the secondaries and then paint swatches of them on your paper to compare with your glazed secondaries. How do they look? The glazed secondaries should have a unique glow as one color shines through the other. Mixed colors have a more solid appearance depending on the ratio of water used.

You may have noticed new hues appearing on your palette as pigments dripped and bled and mingled creating whole arrays of colors. Let's do this on watercolor paper. This time lay down strokes of clear water and drop brush loads of primary colors into the watery strokes. Let red and yellow mingle, red and blue, and yellow and blue. The water and pigment move by themselves, attracting and repelling depending on the characteristics of each pigment. If you get antsy, you can help them along by tilting the paper, adding more pigment or water, or by removing water or pigment with a thirsty, dry brush. You have just experimented with the wet-in-wet technique. It's a beautiful, loosely controlled technique that can loosen one's penchant for studiously building form. And did I say how deliciously fun it is!? Notice the glowing quality of these orange, purple and green colors that appears almost magically, when we pause and allow the colors to mingle.

So there you have a few ways to experiment with color mixing. Are you going to try them out with a little painting? How will you use the natural luminosity of watercolor to express what's important to you?

Thoughts Come & Go

I participate in a Buddhist study group that meets monthly. The group has gone through several metamorphoses over the years, including new faces and new formats. It seems to be in stage of quickening. With a core of people who have attended regularly for some time now, a bond has grown out of the nurture and support we find together. It's a gratifying experience to grow together in spiritual study and practice, and especially so when disagreements arise and are embraced with such patience and care. I have been on the receiving end of that patience and care more often than not, and I can only pray for the capacity to give that gift back to the world.

Recently my turn came to guide our discussion. For most of the week I struggled to find something, some engaging topic to share, feeling pretty inadequate in the midst of these accomplished, articulate people. I pulled stacks of Buddhist books from the shelves, flipping through their pages, hoping to find a word or phrase or topic that would inspire. Piles of books full of rich, scholarly commentaries and nothing stood out to me! In mounting tension and desperation, I dropped my quest for a topic and immersed myself in a painting. Aah! Sweet respite!

Actually, I started and finished this painting many years ago. It was exhibited locally and even received an award. But the painting always bugged me; it never really felt complete. I had been reading about meditation, about the state of concentration called samadhi, and that's when this painting was born in my bewildered mind. I imagined my mind as sharp and clear and cool, hence the crispness of the still life, with it's icy blue and white. If you look closely though, you can see variation in the blue tones— some are warm and some are cool. This contrast gives depth and dimension to the sense of temperature. The harsh contrast of cool white light with the warmer shadows also contributes to the chill aloofness of the painting. For information about purchasing this painting or giclée prints click here.

I have a tendency to throw myself completely, to the exclusion of all else, into whatever I'm doing at any given time. So when I encountered zen practice my life came to a standstill. I stopped painting. I had been increasingly uncomfortable with the watercolor milieu, with it's competitions, egos and painting for shows, and unable to see and feel the great hearts surrounding me at the time. So off I went. Nothin' but zen. My new zen acquaintances stared blankly back at me whenever I mentioned anything about art making, as though they had never heard of such a thing and didn't really care to either. But I have digressed.

All those books I pulled from the shelves in search of a discussion topic and none of them spoke to me! But the painting I pulled out to assuage my worries about having nothing to share, did speak to me. A vision of a bright orange butterfly had been appearing in my cool aloof painting for several weeks. And so that's what I did. I put away the books and painted the butterfly. I imagined the cool vajra mind transformed by the fragile lightness and warmth of this butterfly. Small as it is in the expanse of icy blues, the warmth it embodies is a personal reminder of patience, compassion and joy. All it takes is one tiny movement of the mind and the balance shifts, the whole picture changes.

When I came to the study group I felt relief— I had let go of my striving for a topic and brought just myself and my meditation practice. I came with a bell and one simple intention— to sit still, looking directly at the mind. I read a few instructions from a mahamudra meditation manual and we sat together. Meditating on thoughts may sound crazy, but just try it. Can you see a thought? What color is it? What shape? Is this a thought? Who is that voice in there? Does it have a sound? When we discussed our meditation experiences my relief deepened, seeing the kindness and patience of them all, as they received my earnest and at times overbearing beginner mind.