Daler Rowney artists' wax oils

Daler Rowney was established in London already in 1783. Today they are based in Bracknell. Their artists' oil paints have a wax additive, which acts as a plasticiser, helping to prevent even heavy impasto from becoming brittle and cracking over time. Wax also has the advantage that it creates an even satin sheen, I suppose, which would suit me. I also theorize that pure zinc white could be used without much risk, especially when mixed with an alkyd medium, because the wax additive would help to prevent the brittleness caused by zinc saponin formation. I wonder whether this brand is popular among British artists. It's not available in Sweden, but can be ordered at a reasonable price at eBay. Have you any experience of these paints? Mats

Thank you for the reply. Another solution is, of course, to add beeswax to regular oil paint, such as Gamblin cold wax medium. By the way, I am slightly chocked to see that Michael Harding makes a genuine vermilion, i.e., it is made of mercuric sulphide (cinnabar). Although it is chemically inert and has a relatively low toxic potential, it is made of highly poisonous mercury. When heated it gives off toxic fumes. Brushes mustn't be cleaned in the bathroom sink. It isn't environmentally responsible to make mercury paints, because few artists are that conscientious about hazardous pigments. /Mats

The point is that vermillion, also called Chinese red, is a sacred colour. (I originally posted the following little essay on the WetCanvas forum, which I abandoned because the moderator dictatorially deletes whole threads that do not accord with his/her subjective ideas.) aliexpress.com Originally vermillion was made from cinnabar (mercuric sulfide). The word cinnabar is derived from the Persian word for "dragon's blood." The transmutations of cinnabar was a central mystery in medieval alchemy, where the conjunction of feminine mercury with masculine sulphur was interpreted as the "Coniunctio Solis et Lunae". The result was the Philosopher's Stone, the magical material, or red tincture, capable of transmuting base metals into gold. During some part of the chemical transformations, it gave rise to the blackness of nigredo, comparable to the solar eclipse. Correspondingly, in ancient Chinese alchemy, cinnabar is an essential ingredient for the elixir of immortality. Only the Chinese emperor had the right to use vermillion ink. In roman times, it was the colour of the emperor. In 1295, it became the colour worn by Cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church. It is a curious hue, because it is neither red nor orange, and therefore it deserves a name of its own. If the primary colours (red, yellow, blue) are blended, we get the secondary colours, such as green, orange and purple. But vermillion doesn't even belong to these, because it is a tertiary colour, that is, a blend of a primary with one or two secondary hues, in this case red with orange, I suppose. So it belongs to these curious tertiary hues, difficult to define, such as magenta and chartreuse. This is according to the RYB colour wheel, for traditional painting (here). Perhaps this can explain why artists show such a strong preference for the primary colours. According to Mondrian, only the three primaries must be used. Artists have always had problems with green, because it is a secondary hue, and therefore not so easy to pin down and feel certain about. Picasso said that he was never satisfied with green as it came out of the tube. Many artists will never purchase a green paint tube, nor a purple. They are even more reluctant towards the tertiary hues, such as teal or chartreuse. Not many artists purchase such paints, although they would be ideal for landscape painters. The reason why vermillion has had such great status is perhaps just this, i.e. that it is an unearthly and undefinable colour, and therefore spiritual and divine. Today, however, people don't reason in this way. Although there is a low-price three star vermillion pigment (PR168, Anthraquinone), it is not popular. I think it's only Beckers who has it in their assortment. (In mass tone it tends to become slightly dull, but it can be remedied by blending it with cadmium or pyrrole, I suppose.) However, had it been medieval times, this pigment would have been hugely popular. Today, we are quite earthbound and strive after the strictly defined. According to Mondrian, we must only use horizontal and vertical lines, because diagonals are unstable. When Theo van Doesburg said that we should also be able to use diagonals, because it introduces dynamism, their friendship was over. Accordingly, since vermillion isn't strictly defined (some will call it red, some orange), we must only use primary red. My idea is that, apart from other aspects, such as shade, tint, warmness, and complementary hues, we must also heed the psychological effects of tertiary colours. Arguably, creating an abstract work with a lot of diagonals, using hues like magenta, vermillion, and chartreuse, will have quite a different impact than a Mondrian painting, which is rigorously defined according to our sensuous faculty. Mats Winther References https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vermilion http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/whats-the-deal-with-vermilion-a-brief-history-of-a-very-old-color-196644 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.se/2014/04/c-is-for-cinnabar-or-immortality-is-not.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tertiary_color http://sambali.blogspot.se/2010/02/red-gold-of-alchemy.html http://matsgunnarsson.com/Beckers-A_72dpi_EN.pdf http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2010/jan/23/theo-van-doesburg-avant-garde-tate