Crabbing, Blakeney, oil, (12” x 17”). Collection of Mr & Mrs David Black

In this March 1979 article from The Artist, Christopher Glanville considers the connections between an artist and the area he chooses to paint. The working sketches illustrated here can also provide valuable insights into one artist’s vision of his region.

Familiarity

I have been returning to Suffolk to paint the landscape for several years, believing that a definite degree of familiarity with an area is fundamental. That is, only through repeated study is it possible to be truly acquainted with the changes of season; light; wind; humidity; temperature; growth and degree of human cultivation; indeed, all of those facets which combine to give an area its character.

Equally, I believe that lack of familiarity is also necessary to the serious painter, as it provides an element which can help to enliven his work.

It is commonly acknowledged that it is hardest to really see your everyday surroundings; the first thing a painter must do is to see.

So in a way, the return to a subject has grown to be a part of my working method. The act of returning, after a lapse, instils a sense of invigoration which can find its way into the painting.

For any artist, whatever his stature, his best paintings are those which show a fresh interest, making his eyes sharper and his hand more sure. At this level, the activity becomes one of great personal reward.

The question of scale

Having concentrated for a long time on small scale studies of the Suffolk countryside, more recently I have also been painting large canvases in the studio. These necessarily have to be pained indoors, owing to the protracted time of their execution and the facilities I require to support this size of work.

Every artist benefits from variety in scale and in my own case, the range of sizes on which I work extends from 4 by 5 inches to 4 to 5 feet. The problems in each extreme are entirely different, and experiments in scale can lead to some surprising results. A degree of awareness of these differences is important, as painting on an unfamiliar size of canvas without forethought usually just multiplies and exaggerates individual difficulties.

In purely physical terms, on a large canvas you paint from the shoulder and elbow for the greater part of the time, rather than from the wrist and knuckle as you would do on a smaller picture. As a result, the character and tensions of the marks are of quite different nature.

On the Road to Eye, pencil, (7” x 9.5”)

The concept, too, needs to be considered in relation to scale. Some subjects are simply more suitable for a large scale work.

Generally speaking, a small landscape composition with a predominating close element, such as a group of trees placed a few feet behind the picture plane, will create a slightly disturbing impression.

The eye automatically registers a small painting as a receding view because the scene is taken in as a whole, whereas in a large canvas the eye can actually scan and explore separate areas as it would do in reality.

On this basis, a subject of trees positioned directly behind the picture plane will be more appropriate to a large canvas wherein the eye can move across areas in the immediate foreground and then scan and refocus to other elements in this picture.

This movement is natural for the eye, and if a painting somehow contradicts it, the result will be disturbing no matter how well it is executed.

Studio painting

The Banks of The Waveney, oil on canvas (26” x 28”). Private collection

For studio painting, I gather a complex of cross references of different visual images of the subject which I relate to the fundamental reference – my memory.

It is memory, or more precisely, the residual impression, which is the fulcrum around which the compositional references are balanced. Providing the memory is based on good previous study, it can recall aspects of a place which may not be contained in any visual references.

I use pencil, pen and wash, oil and occasionally watercolour sketches as references, in conjunction with spontaneous photographs.

The photographs are important as a means of recording which can be contrasted against my sketches, which have inevitably gone through a process of distillation and are therefore presenting only certain features of the subject matter. The illustrated painting of the Waveney Valley is an example of a large painting completed in the studio by such methods.

The Waveney Valley has been the subject of a number of my larger canvases, and this valley, which forms the border between Suffolk and Norfolk, should be included in any visit to East Anglia.

Particularly around Hoxne and Bungay, there are exceptional qualities of light. At Hoxne, the reflective quality of the river as contrasted to the dense tree growth on one bank and the completely open, flat landscape on the other blends to create unexpected combinations of light and shadow.

At Bungay, the conditions are similar; there being dense growth on one bank with the added element of a large number of cultivated willows which act as filters and somehow intensify the light. The natural beauty of this area results in a good deal of local artistic activity.

I have included paintings by David Giffard, who has been painting in this area, almost exclusively, for several years.

The Waveney near Bungay, oil (30” x 24”) by David Giffard

My personal approach to landscape painting emphasises the interest I find in unpeopled views, yet there is a whole movement in painting which is concerned with figure composition and human activity in the landscape.

Giffard’s painting of Blakeney in Norfolk will be of interest to those readers who are involved in the problems of relating the figure to the landscape. Giffard paints his figures with a broad but precise treatment which gives them quite definite form and movement.

Exploring Suffolk

Crabbing, Blakeney, oil, (12” x 17”). Collection of Mr & Mrs David Black

It has been my intention to convey the stimulus I have received from the Suffolk countryside and the wealth of material to be found there.

No painter can expect to discover all the potential of an entire county in one lifetime, and from an artistic point of view, this is not even necessary.

No doubt there are parts of Suffolk which I shall ever know. What I feel is important is that a relationship be struck with an area, and that area can be geographically every small – even a single field if that is enough for the individual. Equally, it is interesting to know something of the local history as a context for your specific interest as painter. This obviously could not be covered fully here, but for example, it is interesting for my purposes to know that East Anglia has been an extremely wealthy region.

Suffolk at the height of the wool trade in the 15th and 16th centuries was the richest part of England, and the results are quite evident. Lavenham, for example, has a large number of fine timber framed hall buildings and a church of cathedral rather than parish proportions.

Other less well-known places have buildings of equal merit, often restored by the Landmark Trust, who are active throughout the country. I suggest, then, that you research the area that you like to paint.

For those of you who are now considering painting Suffolk, or who would like to read more about the architecture, I suggest you try reading Suffolk Houses by Eric Sanden.

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This article is taken from the March 1979 issue of The Artist.