Jude Kai

What's Mixed Media All About?

   If you like dropping into galleries and browsing the art, you might be a bit mystified by the description found next to some paintings: Instead of the familiar components such as oils or watercolors, the little sign says, "Mixed Media." OK, that seems to imply that more than one type of medium is used to make the painting. But exactly what types of things qualify as "mixed media?"

  You would be amazed at what artists put on a painting. The minute an artist stops painting with their chosen medium (such as oils, watercolors, or acrylics) and that artist picks up a stick of charcoal, a graphite pencil, a pastel chalk or an oil crayon and starts to draw over what they have painted, the work can technically be considered "mixed media."

  But "mixed media" usually is reserved for artworks that have unusual materials added to the paint. Among the dazzling array of materials are collage pieces, which can include old sheet music, antique letters and envelopes, dressmaking patterns, sepia photographs, portions of magazine and newspaper pages, old maps, wrapping paper, etc. Artists sometimes use stamps and stencils to change up the look of their work. And then there are materials that are literally glued on to the canvas, such as tissue paper, image transfers, window screening, deli papers, aluminum foil, fabric, fishing line, dried grasses and flowers--just about anything that can be adhered to the canvas or wood substrate can be added by an imaginative (and sometimes daring) artist.

  Well, you ask, "How do they get this stuff to stick?" There are probably a variety of methods. I'm not sure what other artists use, but those like myself who work in acrylics stick things on using special acrylic mediums. They're not glue; rather, they're the actual base of the paint itself. In other words, mediums are what hold, carry, move, and then permanently "stick" the colored pigments of paint onto the canvas. Pure acrylic mediums can be manufactured as gels, which the artist swabs onto the canvas and then onto the back of a collage piece, just as you would glue a photo into a scrapbook. The gel dries crystal clear and seals the added material onto the canvas or wood backing. And many gels are designed to be painted over--they'll hold tight to the paint above them so that it won't crack or spall off over time. And of course, if the added component is big and heavy enough, it can be screwed or stapled into the wood panel of the painting.

   Oh, and don't forget what artists mix into their paints. I've seen coffee grounds, sand, marble powder,  and other materials added to give the paint heft and added dimension. A couple of years ago, I added powdered lusters (often used to make eye shadows and other makeup sparkly) to clear acrylic gel. And I even experimented with stirring tiny chips of pure silica (clear quartz) into paint. Best of all for fortunate artists who use acrylics, many manufacturers produce gels and pastes that mimic surfaces such as cake icing, hand-made paper, or cracked earth.

  Why would an artist do this? There are many reasons. An artist might want to evoke a certain feeling, or convey a certain effect, that will add to the impact of their painting or make their work unusual and unique. The use of collage materials is a time-honored way of telling a story, or adding an element of mystery (or history) to an artwork. Gels and pastes contribute texture, depth, and a "change of pace" or a little surprise within a painting.

  But there's often an additional reason (that's not always talked about): It's FUN to play with these materials, and see what they can do. An inquisitive artist who's willing to experiment with these materials might find a special way of combining them with paint to produce an effect that helps to express what's important in their work. And to me, that's probably the best reason of all.

What are Aspect Ratios and Why Should An Artist Give a Crop About Them?

An aspect ratio is the ratio between the length and width of something. Aspect ratios are a shorthand way of describing the shape of things. In two-dimensional paintings, most aspect ratios describe rectangles and squares.

As a beginning painter, I never really paid attention to aspect ratios. I bought whatever boards or canvases were on sale. Size and shape didn’t matter because I was just using them to practice painting. Mostly, I thought of in terms of “small, medium, large, and too big for me to afford.”

When I began work on my artist’s website, I didn’t pay much attention to cropping the photos I took of my work—I just tried to get the entire picture in, even though it wasn’t exactly perfect in shape. I concentrated on accurate color and sharp focus, and some of my photos showed the edge of the painting (where the canvas started wrapping over the sides). And when I cropped photos in general, I only paid attention to what I wanted to include or omit. I never thought much about the measurements or the shape (i.e. aspect ratio).

Then I started shopping online for frames for my canvases. Eye-opening. Frames seemed to come in a limited number of shapes and sizes. Anything beyond that required custom mats and frames---much pricier.

But still, I didn’t truly put two and two together until I photographed my paintings and sketch book images and posted them to my website to sell as Art Prints. The platform of my artist’s website is called Artspan, and one of their services to their artists is they will mat and frame any of my prints for my customers. To take advantage of this arrangement, I submit a really good photo of an artwork and then they calculate what size prints they can make for me, based on that photo.

First of all, I immediately had many photos rejected because the imagery/colors in the painting didn’t “bleed” all the way out to the edge. No shadowy colors dropping off a rounded edge were allowed—All four outer edges had to be crisp and clean. (Note: This is true only in situations where prints are being made from the photos…Many artists prefer to photograph their paintings in a more natural setting, showing edge shadows and all.)

Second, I learned that if my photos did not have aspect ratios that corresponded to the most common frame shapes, it made it difficult to offer standard frames without losing part of my my painting’s details. While the clarity and pixel count of a photo are the major determinants of what size prints can be made, the aspect ratio also appears to play a role.

I realized that it was really helpful to learn about the standard aspect ratios found in many paintings and art photos, and that lesson is what I’d like to share with you now:

 

Here’s a diagram that I made showing some of the most common aspect ratios of two-dimensional art. 

The ratio is a number that results, in this case, from
dividing the shorter side by the longer side. If all four
sides are equal, the ratio is 1:1 = a square.

As you scroll down the page here, you’ll see that
as the aspect ratios get smaller, the black rectangles
get squatter (flatter). This can help when you’re trying
to figure out how to crop a portion of an image—an
aspect ratio of .80 is going to be much fuller than that
of .66, which is flatter by comparison.

If you have a good photo editing program, you can
ask it to automatically set the shape of your cropping boundaries.

For example, say you want a 3:4 (.75) aspect ratio.
   --According to the diagram at right, you could tell the crop tool to set the boundaries at
12 in and 16 in. The cropping box will have a .75 aspect ratio. Just enlarge/decrease the crop box and move it where it works for you.
 
  --If you want to work with pixels, start by dividing the smaller number by the larger. Examine the ratio decimal—if you’re within .005 of one of the common aspect ratios at right, you’re probably good to go.
So .714 is fine, and .805 is fine—just double-check with your print maker to be sure.

Note: the aspect ratios stay the same whether the picture is horizontal or vertical.

But what if you have a photo whose aspect ratio is, say, .78 (such as a photo that’s 2000 x 2560 pixels). That’s about midway between .75 and .80 (see above diagram). How you set your crop depends on whether you want an image that’s closer to square (.80) or one that’s a little squatter (.75). Examining the photo and deciding what’s most important to include (i.e., more width or more height) should help you make that decision. And, the shorter edge is going to be your “limiting factor.” Here’s what I mean:

This is a photo of my painting Soliloquy.
It had been rejected by my printers because I needed to clean up the edges.
    
Plus, it’s not perfectly square.
It’s 1781px wide and 1800px high. Before I clean up the edges, I need to figure out how to make it square (1:1). Ideally, it should be 1800 x 1800 px, but I simply don’t have the width—
I lost 19 pixels somewhere, probably because I tilted the camera a bit when I took the photo.
  
So that’s an important thing to keep in mind: the shorter side is always going to limit the final crop size. In this case, my final photo has to be a maximum of 1781 x 1781. I will set my crop size to that and dither about trying to include all the important bits.

Let’s go back to the imaginary photo you have that’s 2000 x 2560 pixels. Dividing the smaller number by the larger gives you .78. What if you want your image to have an aspect ratio of .75? You’d simply take the pixels of the longer side (to maximize the finished size of your photo) and multiply it times .75. In this case, .75 x 2560 = 1920. So your adjusted photo size would be 1920 x 2560.

If you wanted to go to a .80 (8/10) aspect ratio, you’re now INCREASING the height relative to the width, but you’re limited by your shortest side, 2000 pixels. So you’d have to solve the equation of 2000/x = 8/10. Remember basic algebra? Cross multiply 2000 by 10 (=20,000) and then divide by 8 = 2500. So you’d set your crop limits at 2000px  x  2500px.

Again, doing this sounds like a real challenge, but in the long run, you will save yourself (and your customer) cash if you/they don’t have to pay for custom framing.

p.s. You can also use the chart above for vertical paintings—just turn it on its side.
pps. If you'd like a copy of the diagram above, just email me at [email protected] and ask me to email you a .jpg or .gif of the diagram and I'd be happy to send it to you. Also, if you like my blog, I'd sure love to have you Subscribe--just click the link at the top right corner of this screen. Thanks!

Hold It Right There! Use pot lid racks to store your paintings.

    If you’re like me, you start out as an artist wondering how you’ll ever fill an entire blank canvas. Once you’re over that hurdle, the next question soon becomes: How do I store all my paintings safely? How do I keep them separated, so the frame of one doesn't poke through the canvas of its neighbor?

     As a glass artist, I used dish and lid racks to hold my smaller glass pieces. But paintings pose a slightly different challenge: Most dish racks are too small for most canvases. I was afraid that a canvas might lean against a wire divider and get marred or stretched out. For a while, that problem could be solved with large pieces of cardboard to protect the paintings, but as my canvases got larger, I had to come up with a different means of storage.

    One day, as I browsed the housewares aisles in a local store, the idea hit me: Why not try mounting a pot lid rack on the wall and use it to hold up my paintings? I figured out what I needed:

            a. A pot lid rack whose wire dividers were completely vertical, instead of at an angle. Here's a photo of what I mean:

            b. The wires of the rack had to be rigid and sturdy, but most of all smooth and non-tarnishing so  they wouldn’t harm the  canvases. I found that chrome ones fit the bill. Wires coated with soft rubber work well, too. The photo below shows what I found. You can probably find something similar with a bit of searching:


         c. the spaces in between the wire dividers had to be wider than my deepest canvas.  I found one with 2-inch gaps, shown at right:

Then, how to hang it? My helpful hardware guy led me around the store until I found what I needed:

          d. “C” clamps (in plastic) that would anchor the pot lid rack to the wall (The ones I got are made by Rubbermaid). You'll need a minimum of  5-6 clamps per rack. Make sure that your clamps are big enough to hold the wire of your racks.
          e.  3/4" wood screws that would fit through the holes in the C clamps (2 screws per clamp).
          f.  a vacuum to clean up plaster or wood shavings and dust from drilling.

A long-handled screwdriver, a good level, a motorized drill with a proper bit, a pencil and a strip of tape rounded out the equipment I needed. A helper would be very useful.  Below is a photo of what the C Clamps (item d.) and the wood screws (item e) look like:

First, I  suggest you measure the space you have available and purchase enough racks to fill that space. (If you have the room, leave a 2” gap between each rack as you mount it. This provides a free space to store another painting).

Take a rack and hold it with the top facing you and the bottom pressed against the wall.  Pick a height that will hold the size paintings you want to store—It has to fall just beneath the top of your shortest painting, and be somewhere in the top half of your largest painting. If you have a wide range of sizes and enough wall space, you could mount some racks lower to hold small to medium pieces, then mount a group higher to hold large ones. The general idea is to have the rack mounted near or slightly above the top third of the painting. Have a pencil available and move the rack around until you have it where you want it, then make a mark on the wall even with the horizontal wire that’s resting against the wall.

Cut a long strip of masking tape and press it lightly across the wall along that line you drew.  Rest your level along the top edge of the tape and make sure the entire length of tape is level. Then press the tape firmly so it will stick.

Take your first rack, hold it against the wall even with the top edge of the tape, and place a C clamp over the horizontal wire approximately midway in the gap between two wires. Using your pencil, draw a dot right through the holes in the plastic of the C clamp where the screws should go.  Repeat this so that you have dots for where a minimum of three clamps can go on the top, (you'll add a minimum of two more on the bottom later). Double-check to make sure your line of dots is level. Remove the tape, place the rack down and get your drill.  Here's a photo of how the clamps fit on the rack, which should help you understand and follow the directions below: Drill holes where you’ve made your dots. Remember that you’ll need two holes for every clamp. Your first goal is to screw in just the top screw for each of the three clamps running across your rack's top edge. (The screws on the inside of the rack are harder to reach, hence the usefulness of a long-handle screwdriver, and a helper.)

Take a plastic clamp, put a screw through JUST the top hole per clamp. Don't drill them all the way in yet.
Turn the clamps sideways for just a minute. You'll want to rest the rack against the wall just under the clamps.
Then you can gently lift the bottom of the clamp and swing it over the wire of the rack. (see the photo at right):
Pick up a second screw for each clamp and with your long-handle screw driver, screw it about 2/3 of the way in.
Repeat for the other top two clamps. Now your rack should hang by itself from the wall.

Once your rack is hanging from your top three clamps, adjust it so the wire dividers are straight up and down by holding your level against it as shown in the photo at left.

Then repeat the process of marking holes for the clamps you’ll mount along the bottom wire. You can swing the rack up and out of the way, which will make it easier for you to drill the holes (having a second person helping would be great). Attach the bottom clamps like you did the top ones, then shift and tweak the entire rack so that all the wires are perfectly vertical. Press the rack against the wall to keep it from moving, and finish tightening all the screws.

If you’re mounting more than one rack and have the wall space, leave a 2” gap between racks which is a “free” space where you can store one more painting.

When your racks are secured, finish by vacuuming the walls and surrounding area to keep the drill dust from attaching itself to your paintings. Voila! A no-muss, affordable way to keep your paintings stored safely.

Keep scrolling down to see photos of three mounted racks before and after I added the paintings:

 

ONE LAST NOTE: This design is meant for light use. If you're planning to cram in as many paintings as possible that will be moved often, I suggest either mounting the racks on wood (or wood supports behind walls), or to use longer screws with "jackets" that will anchor them more sturdily in plaster walls.

 

Sketchbook Memories and New Beginnings

    One of my favorite places in the world is on the Monterey Peninsula. Between the towns of Monterey and Carmel, the Pacific shoreline is home to Asilomar State Park. The ocean crashes into rocky outcrops and small beaches, receding at low tide to reveal crystalline pools lined with barnacles and anenomes, hunted by small fish, tiny crabs, isopods, and the occasional red-orange starfish. Rain or shine, it’s always beautiful, always walkable, with benches here and there placed just right for contemplation of surf and sea birds. If you are lucky, you’ll see a sea otter bobbing just beyond the break of the waves.

    I have happy memories of being abandoned here by my husband, who went on to urban places inland to attend conferences that lasted two or three days. Without a car, I would stay in one of the small motels a block or two inland. Each morning, I would dress warmly (there’s always wind) and stroll down to the oceanfront. If I got there early enough, I could claim a seat in my favorite spot, a little pavilion set between two small coves. From my backpack I would pull pencil, sketchbook, eraser, and for hours I would sit and draw and design. At that time, I was a glass fuser and jeweler, so I would design jewelry set with my multi-layered, cut and polished dichroic glass pieces.

    At the end of the day, I would walk to the end of the boardwalk where I could claim a table at my favorite fish restaurant and enjoy a marvelous meal. I would wander back through quiet streets lined with Torrey pines and Monterey cypresses, smiling at the visitors heading into the fireplace-lit rooms as small deer wandered through front yards, helping themselves to locals’ gardens. All the way, I could hear the ocean….It was heaven.

   Above is a photo of the little pavilion with its inside bench, overlooking the surf. To the left is a photo of me taken by my husband upon his return. My wind-burned face is the very picture of deep contentment.

   The drawings that I came home with formed the basis for months of work. Every time I leaf through that sketchbook, I smile.

I've also had giant "sketchbooks" (The largest of which was 18 x 24 inches) which held pencil-drawn designs of my glass vessels. (You can see the finished products on my Jude Kai Art website on this page: Jude Kai Fused Glass Art.)  I would use permanent marker to trace the sketchbook's pencil designs onto translucent mylar. The mylar was pretty indestructible, so it served as a template to cut and shape the glass pieces before I assembled and fused them.

Now, several years later, I have a new sketchbook to fill, but with totally different designs in a completely different medium. As I write this, I'm sequestered for the pandemic and too far away from the ocean for a quick day trip. But I've set up my drawing table with a view of the mountains in the distance and a bird feeder outside the window with local feathered visitors to keep me company.

For some reason, I was a bit intimidated about what to put in this pretty 8 x 10", spiral-bound, hardcover book with 40 pages of heavy watercolor paper. After all, this is now an artist's sketchbook. For me as a painter, an abstract artist.

It's supposed to contain...WHAT? Experimental designs? Practice life drawings? Collages? Still lifes? Old postcards? Restaurant receipts? Landscape sketches? WHAT?  How should it be done--watercolors, colored pencils, graphite, charcoal??  I went online and watched one serious artist who said he carries his sketchbook everywhere and only uses an ink pen to draw...INK PEN!! I'm Ms. Erase That...I'd go nuts if I couldn't change something I put down on paper.

So I ordered a little tray of watercolors (I've never used watercolors) and multicolored sheets of construction paper, pulled out a box of colored pencils, sat down and looked at my sketchbook and said--F-orget this! I'm taping the edges of one sketchbook page to a flat background (so it won't warp when wet), and I'm using my own acrylics, and I'm off! And that's how it started, just a short while ago. I invite you to share this mini-adventure with me in future posts.

 

 

 

Conscious Palette

In this post, I’m sharing a fun way to build an interesting palette of colors for a new painting.

OK, I’m not one of those artists who uses only three colors and then mixes them to produce every other color in their painting. That’s very impressive, but it’s just not me. When paints are on sale, I like try out new hues and experiment with those, mixing them with one, then another of my “old” favorites to get a range of new and exciting colors. With each new mix, I swipe a palette knife into the paint and add it to an ongoing sample sheet. Next to the swatch, I jot a quick note of what went into it. These sheets are really helpful when I’m looking for that perfect color to add to a painting that I’m working on.
            Here’s a shot of one of my sample sheets where I’m working to produce natural-looking earth and vegetation hues. Note the sequence of colors--I start out by mixing two colors, then I add a third into the mix and swipe that onto the sheet as the next swatch, and so on:



While the sample sheets are helpful,  I’ve come up with a fun way to plan out some new color palettes before  you begin painting:

1. Pick a mood, scene, or subject matter and think about the full range of colors that you’d like to consider using. Pull those colors from your paint supply. (Obviously, black and white can be part of any palette if you wish). If you're not sure about what colors look best together, check the end of this post for some helpful links.

2. Using a sheet of watercolor paper or heavy white stock, place a daub of one of your colors at the top and use a palette knife to spread it into a 1” by 1/2” swatch. Write the name of the color beneath it. If you want, you can use a moist paper towel to gently wipe off some of the color at one side to show a “wash” of that color. Repeat this for each of your choices until you have several rows of swatches. Remember that you want to keep an open mind, so don’t hesitate to pick colors that you think might be interesting. You’re not going to have to use all of them the first time out!

Example: I wanted to create some palettes that are mostly neutral in feel. So I pulled greys, beiges, creams, and very soft pastels--some warm, others cool. Then I pulled darker hues that could increase my tonal range. I threw in a few brighter hues for accent colors.
         Here’s what my color sheets looked like for the neutrals. Yes, I pulled some colors that might raise eyebrows, but since I’m experimenting, what’s the harm? They might make good accent colors. And remember I can tone down any color with black, or create a lighter shade by adding white.

3. With a pair of scissors, cut up the sheet into individual swatches. Be sure to cut across the top of each color (and down the side if you want) to create a color edge--a white margin will prevent you from really seeing how the colors look next to one another.

4. Now play around, combining colors….Start with two that look good together, then expand to three, adding, subtracting, exchanging swatches until you build several groups of 4-5 colors that you can arrange as shown. After you’ve played a bit, you’ll be able to tell what seems to work together. You might even come up with some surprisingly interesting combinations.                                                 
        Here’s what I came up with (I’ll probably add some of my previously-mixed colors to these groups):


5. While you have them grouped, write down a list of what colors are in each group for future reference. You can paper-clip your groups and keep them in an envelope or container to refer to while painting. You’ll have a lot of swatches left over, but you can come back to them after you’ve tried out your new palette combinations. Have Fun and let me know how it works for you!

6. Helpful Links: If you’d like some help with selecting colors, here are links to two excellent color-picking aids online:
            Sessions College for Professional Design
               Color Wheel Calculator: https://www.sessions.edu/color-calculator/
            Palleton.com Color planner: https://paletton.com/#uid=75A0v0kpDoBjMNTkOr-ssjXth6h

Turning to Art from Science: Thrills and Terrors Part 2

In my previous post, I discussed some of the advantages that people who have technical training bring to the practice of art. But there are disadvantages, too: Spontaneity, freedom of expression, “letting loose,” and trying crazy things just for the heck of it—These are not so easy for us with technical backgrounds.  

For example, did you know that a biologist designing a research project has to plan out everything in advance? They have to pre-determine:

• what species they’re going to study,
• what time of year they’re going to collect their data,
• where they’re going to set up their study sites,
• the ages and sexes of the animals they’ll be observing,
• how they’re going to take measurements,
• what statistical tests they plan to use to analyze their data.

So every step of the entire project is mapped out in advance, and there’s no changing methodologies midstream.

While earning my own degrees in Environmental Science and
Biology never stopped me from being a creative thinker,
it sure didn’t prepare me for becoming an artist. You might
think with all my education, I would feel confident in switching
over to an “easy” pursuit like painting, but the actual
experience was just the opposite.

I took one three-day painting class in November 2017. Before I walked into that classroom, I didn’t even know what gesso was. But I had a great teacher, and YouTube, and I was on my way. I quickly learned an important lesson:

   The only way to become a painter is to paint.

This simple maxim doesn’t convey the struggle, the terror, the fear of failure that I felt starting out (mixed of course with a lot of passion and determination). Unlike the entirely pre-planned experience of doing research and teaching college courses, painting felt for me like that Indy-Jones movie where you are poised on the edge of a bottomless abyss, and your only option is to take a deep breath and place one foot out over the edge and hope that you don’t fall screaming into nothingness. The next step is just as scary and exciting. And the next. There’s no path mapped out. No certainty of success. And in my case, even though I knew I wanted to paint abstracts, I had absolutely no idea how I was ever going to paint GOOD ones.

So I tried lots of different techniques. I painted on paper, on canvas board, on panel, on small cheap canvases, then bigger ones. I have had enough successes to convince me that I’m progressing, but I still don’t feel like I’ve arrived. But that’s ok, as a trained scientist, I know that art and science have one important thing in common: There’s always more to learn.

So what about you? I and the other readers would enjoy learning your story. Did you come from a technical background before you became an artist? Was your transition easy (a relief?) or difficult (harder than you thought), and why? Any advice you'd like to offer based on your experience? We'd love to hear from you!

Science, Art, and the Integrated Brain. Part I

This whole right brain/left brain controversy is really a non-starter for some people. Especially women. Did you know that in women, the connection between the right and left hemispheres of the brain (called the corpus callosum) is much bigger than that in males?

That explains two things that I’ve observed in my life:

          1) that men are much more capable of compartmentalized thinking than women
(i.e. “this affair I’m having here has nothing to do with the marriage I’m having there.”), and

          2) women are better integrated thinkers. In my opinion, women are better at integrating their thinking with their emotions and their social connections (consciously). It’s not to say that men’s emotions don’t affect their thinking…rather, men aren’t quite as adept at recognizing it when they do.

As a scientist turned artist, I’ve been delighted to meet other women who came to art from careers in science, medicine, and business where required skills are usually relegated to the other side of their brain from art. One woman is a geologist turned glass fuser, another designed engines for rockets—now she designs collages. A third had a job as a biochemist, a fourth was a NASA mechanic, a fifth was a nurse—they all ended up as practicing artists.

I’m sure that any group of women artists over fifty will have a surprisingly large component of science, medicine, business and tech professionals who’ve had really challenging and rewarding careers. I’m also willing to guess that many if not most of them also (secretly) cherished a love of drawing, painting, or viewing art. After becoming a success in a laboratory, hospital, business or academic setting, they are now returning to one of the earliest loves of their lives—art.  

There are many advantages in having a scientific or technical background when switching over to art. For example, we (female and male) scientists (I have a Ph.D. in Biology and have taught at the university level) can bring critical thinking and scientific rigor into our artistic practices. We experiment: we test materials, tools, and techniques.  We’re good at taking notes and keeping records of what works and what doesn’t. Some of us are really good at explaining things and teaching others. We’re used to motivating ourselves to be productive.

And in certain aspects of producing art, such as the mechanics of glassblowing, the physics governing the behavior of glass heating in a kiln, the chemical properties of pigments, or the technical aspects of welding or casting sculptures, people with a mechanical bent of mind tend to excel, be they male or female.

So science can be a good foundation to have when going into art. But if you’ve been solely an artist since birth, and just the memory of every science and math class you had to take in school still makes you cringe, no need to feel bad.

This whole post has focused on the upside. There’s a downside. I’ll talk about that in my next post.

Why I keep my camera on a leash.

OK, I admit it, I'm a klutz. I remember transferring to a new school in 1st grade. The teacher stood me in front of the class and asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A Ballerina,” I answered. She took one look at my bandaided, scabbed knees, (from rollerskating on sidewalks) and burst into laughter. That was my first humiliation. Since then, I’ve tripped, stumbled, tumbled down stairs, even fallen off my shoes (while standing still). When I worked for Chicago architect Harry Weese, I happened to be walking through the atrium where the president of the company was speaking with a client. Just as I got near them, my foot caught on something and I tripped, barely saving myself. My boss calmly gestured to me and said to the client, “And this is Grace….”

So it’s no surprise that I broke my favorite studio camera by knocking it (accidentally) off its tripod. Technically, it was a freak accident, but the camera hit the concrete floor and never recovered. So now I have an older camera that serves as my studio camera. It’s my workhorse, and I keep it on a tripod so as to take the best, clearest pictures—much better than hand-held.

To ensure that I would never accidentally destroy this camera, I made a 6-7-ft leash for it and attached the leash to a hook I drilled into the ceiling. I actually have three of these setups, one for each room of my studio. The end of the leash (strong cords knotted together) has a lobster clasp that I can easily hook to the carrying strap of the camera while it sits on its tripod. At the other end, the ceiling hook is one of those plant hangar hooks that people in the ‘70s used to hang macramé plant slings or lamps on chains (I know I’m dating myself here, but really, how much more humiliated can I get?) This way, I can paint, take photos, and go back to painting without worrying about knocking over the tripod again—the leash will keep it upright.

If you are a truly graceful person and never have accidents in the studio, I applaud you. But there’s another reason why I use an older camera rather than my fancy, beautiful cell phone: I often want to take pictures quick, before the paint dries, which results in my getting paint all over the camera even though I try to wipe off my hands.

Also, I take occasional videos as I’m working, primarily when I’m trying out a new brush or tool. I set it up to shoot either over my shoulder when I work on a horizontal surface, or at an angle to an upright canvas where I dart in and paint. It’s fantastic to have a record of a beautiful sweep of paint, or exactly what a certain shape palette knife does. Thing is, my hands are usually covered with paint just as I want to hit the “stop recording” button. I would never want to risk damaging my cell phone that way.

This is not to say that I never use the cell phone to take pictures in my studio. When I get to a point in my work that I want to take a photo to send to a friend or post online, I’ll clean up, then grab my cell phone to take a “public portrait.” That’s much easier to send than an image on my camera. I often fold the studio camera down and rest the cell phone atop it and the tripod, to steady my hand.

One last suggestion: If you’ve been working on a piece and are really pleased with it, consider taking BOTH a photo and a video, especially while the paint is not fully dried. Start recording with a shot of the entire piece, then move in and film a “closeup tour” around the painting. End with backing up for a second full shot. It doesn’t need to be long, perhaps not more than a minute, but you’ll love having the result in your archives. (You might have to work sans tripod for this).

And there’s one situation where I never use photos from either this camera or my cell phone—when it’s time to take the official photos of my paintings. That’s when you should either use a professional-grade camera and lighting, or hire a professional.

Stay safe in the studio.

Make your camera your personal assistant!

If you think you’re alone in your studio, you shouldn’t be. Right at hand you have your trusty cell phone (or camera), and you can put it to work in a huge variety of ways:

*Every time you put your brushes down, reach for your camera and take a picture to mark your progress. These photos are worth their weight in gold because you can use them on social media to share your artistic progress with your audience.

Other things you can photograph on the way:
                1) The tubes of paint (labels visible) you’re using to mix a new color.
                2) What each layer of underpainting looks like, before you apply the next one.
                3) What effects you get with a new brush, palette knife, or other tool (Be sure to take a  second photo holding that tool up against the painting for the camera to see).
The camera’s eye sees things differently. Take advantage of this:

*If you’re a jeweler, a collage artist, or someone who builds assemblages of components, you can take photos of each experimental assemblage before you move the pieces around. Then you can scroll through the photos, compare them, and see what composition jumps out at you.

*If you’re an abstract painter struggling to see which side should be up, take a photo, turn the painting, and take another until you’re done. Then look at the camera’s images…Usually you’ll see something a little different in the photos (vs. the naked eye) that might help you decide.

*Whenever you're experimenting or testing new materials or tools, stop and take pictures, whether or not the results are successful. And if you like a certain outcome, draw a big star next to it before you snap your camera, so that it will stand out whenever your peruse your photo library. 
Here's a shot of a test that I did using different lusters mixed with clear acrylic paint:

*Most important, even though you might just be starting out as an artist, NEVER sell or give away any piece that you haven't already photographed with good, even lighting and an uncluttered background. Those photos might someday be your entry into art galleries or contests. At the very least, they will comprise your professional portfolio and remind you of how much you've accomplished!

Welcome to My Blog!

Whether you’ve walked in my door by accident, or just to browse, or because you really want to be here, it doesn’t matter: I’m delighted you’re here.

My name is Jude Kai, Kai as in Hawaiian for ocean, Jude as in Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes and hopeless cases. I have a checkered career, but the notable part is that I started making art more than two decades ago. First it was stained glass, then fused glass, then dichroic glass, then jewelry, then vessels, and now (for the past 2-1/2 years), I’m painting in acrylics. Expressive Abstracts, Magical Landscapes, Reflections on Water, things like that. My brand-new website is called Jude Kai Art and you're more than welcome to drop by there and actually see what I do (http://www.judekaiart.com).

I admit it; I’m addicted to beauty, and I love making beautiful things that stir your soul, or give you strength, or make you feel good things.

I also am a writer, and a biologist, and a former college educator, so in this blog I’ll be sharing both my thoughts and what I’m learning in my journey to become an artist. If you love art, or Nature, or the ocean, I invite you to come along with me and let’s enjoy our time together!