Elephant No. 94: Impasto Painting

I've only tried impasto once before, and I didn't like it at all—mostly because it was incredibly messy. I also didn't much like painting with oils back then. However, I'm a big fan of paintings created with a heavy impasto technique, so I thought I'd give it a try today.

The word "impasto" comes from the Italian impastare, meaning "to knead" or "to paste", and commonly refers to a technique in which paint is applied thickly to a surface. The paint is usually so thick that the strokes of the brush or palette knife are clearly visible.

Happy Cow by Karen Tarlton.
Source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/72797965/karen-tarlton-original-oil-painting

There are several artistic reasons for impasto painting. One of the earliest was the fact that the ridges of paint reflect light in interesting ways. Artists such as Titian and Rembrandt used this property in small areas of their paintings to give added sheen to jewellery and the folds of fabric. Later artists, such as Van Gogh and the French Impressionists, produced entire works with the impasto technique, using the textures they created as an integral part of the painting.

Detail from The Starry Night, 1889
Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890)
Collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York.
Source: http://www.thedailytelecraft.com/2011/04/art-analysis-
van-goghs-starry-night.html

Modern artists such as Paul-Émile Borduas, Willem de Kooning and Jean-Paul Riopelle have used paint as an almost sculptural element for large, bold works in which paint is trowelled on to create textural abstracts, rather than representational pieces. In paintings such as these, the action and direction of the artist's tools are often one of the most important aspects of the work.

Gotham News, 1955
Willem de Kooning (1904–1997)
Collection of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York
Source: http://www.wikipaintings.org/en/willem-de-kooning/gotham-news

Oil paint is most often used for impasto, because it has a long drying time. Thick acrylic paint can also be used, for similar reasons. Because mediums such as watercolour and tempera dry quickly, they are not suitable unless an extender is added.

For today's elephant, going against the concept of impasto as something big and bold, I decided to try impasto on the smallest stretched canvas I could find. I think it's about 5 x 5 cm (2 x 2 inches), and even came with its own little wooden easel.

The tools I could use for impasto this small were obviously limited. The smallest—actually, the only—palette knife I have has a blade measuring about 10 cm (4 inches) long by 1.3 cm (1/2 inch) wide.

I decided to use acrylic paint for this, as oil painting still tends to scare me a little. I know I'm going to make a mess, even with a canvas this small, so better to use paint that doesn't require smelly solvents for post-painting clean-up. Luckily, I had some little tubes of cheap acrylic paint. The tubes are thicker than the acrylic paint in bottles, and I wanted to approximate the consistency of oil paint as much as possible.

The first thing I did was squeeze out some green and yellow paint onto a piece of palette paper.

Using my palette knife, I smeared it across the front and sides of the canvas. I added a bit of orange and brown after this first coat to make it a little less, well, green. I was actually really surprised at how much paint I needed to cover this tiny canvas. I didn't want any white areas showing through, and I wanted the dimensionality of thick paint, but it was astonishing to see how often I had to squeeze out more paint.

Once I was more or less satisfied with the green, I started on the elephant. I tried first with a blend of black, white and grey, but it was murky and unsatisfying.

So I started adding unlikely colours. The range of colours in this set was limited, and they made horrible colours when I tried to blend them. Purple, for example, was completely out of the question. I don't even know how you'd make purple from this set, and I'm actually quite good at blending very precise colours. Maybe if I mixed the brown with white with baby blue and a touch of red, tinged with a soupçon of orange and the darker blue. Not kidding.

This was indeed messy, and I had to clean my palette knife often to avoid getting completely mucky colours. I realized that a very delicate touch is needed if you're going to keep things from smearing too much. I finally got the hang of it, and started to like the technique more than I expected I would.

The final painting is certainly not high art, but I like it enough not to mess with it any further. I sort of wish I hadn't started with a green background—or any background, really—but it turned out well enough in the end.

Next time, I'll try oil paints (in truer pigments) and a bigger canvas. Although, to be honest, there's something to be said for doing a really small impasto painting.

Elephant Lore of the Day
Elephants engage in a form of social networking, just like humans. Although it has long been known that African elephants tend to form strong bonds, recent studies among Asian elephants show that, while they may change their daily companions, they also maintain large, stable networks, from which they choose their closest friends.

Researchers in Sri Lanka followed the friendships of more than 100 female Asian elephants for five seasons, analyzing the elephants' relationships over time. Although most groups had only three adult females, these were drawn from herds with as many as 17 adults.

Interestingly, although some elephants stuck to a few close friends, several were social butterflies who frequently changed companions. The elephants with few friends tended to be more loyal, and those with many friends tended to be less so.

Elephants are also able to track their friends over long distances by calling to one another and using their sense of smell. Even after a considerable time apart, they will recognize and greet their close companions enthusiastically, both vocally and by touching and entwining their trunks.


To Support Elephant Welfare
World Wildlife Fund
World Society for the Protection of Animals
Elephant sanctuaries (this Wikipedia list allows you to click through to information on a number of sanctuaries around the world)
Performing Animal Welfare Society
Zoocheck
Bring the Elephant Home
African Wildlife Foundation 

Elephant No. 93: Gyotaku

I came across this printmaking method a few weeks ago while researching gelatin printing, and tucked it away in the back of my mind to try one day. 

Gyotaku is a Japanese printmaking technique whose name is derived from the words gyo (fish) and taku (rubbing). Dating from the middle of the nineteenth century, it was originally used by fishermen to record their catches.

Traditional gyotaku involves placing your fresh fish, crustacean or mollusk on a wooden bench, and brushing on sumi ink. A piece of fabric or paper is then laid over the inked creature, and the paper or fabric is rubbed until there is a clear image of the fish on the other side.

Cichlid 3 by Scott Maruna.
Traditional gyotaku print on fabric.
Source: http://www.freewebs.com/swampgasbooks/apps/photos/
photo?photoid=24034338

Among today's fishermen, gyotaku is often done with acrylic paint rather than ink. Gyotaku is also a form of artistic expression in both Japan and Western countries, under the general heading of "nature printing". It is sometimes even a children's activity, with rubber fish usually substituted for real ones. There is a good tutorial by an American fisherman here, and an online search actually turns up a number of established gyotaku artists, along with a few videos.

Gyotaku Series: Pollock II by Jean Kigel
Source: http://www.jeankigel.com/sea%20studio%20tenants%20harbor%20
jean_kigel%202007.htm

To be honest, when I happened upon this technique, my first thought was "Why would you want to do this?" It made little sense to me that anyone would take the time to paint a fish in order to record a catch. When I began looking at the kinds of images people produce, however, I began wishing I had a spare fish around to print with.

But I don't fish, and rarely come home with an entire fish from the grocery store, so a printed elephant it is—well, a printed plastic elephant, since I obviously can't print a real elephant. I would dearly love to see a gyotaku print of an actual elephant, but I'll have to leave that to someone else.

It was surprisingly hard to come up with an elephant that wasn't really hard plastic, but I did find this small one that's fairly realistic, textured, and made of a sort of rubbery plastic.

My original thought was that, since I was using a small plastic elephant rather than a real fish, I should at least use traditional rice paper. My reasoning was that rice paper is somewhat soft and flexible, meaning that it should be easy to mould to my elephant, while also picking up the texture.

Wrong. Rice paper is not nearly as soft and flexible as I thought it was and, when you're working with a plastic elephant rather than a mushy fish or smooth-shelled crustacean, you need paper with a bit of give. I tried several kinds of paper before settling on facial tissue.

I know it sounds hopelessly downmarket, but facial tissue actually worked really well. I used a three-ply tissue, which was able to hold together while still allowing me to press it into the elephant rather nicely.

Instead of ink, I chose to use acrylic paints, because I wanted to use colour, and I thought they might pick up the texture of the elephant nicely. This turned out to be a good choice. The only caveat is that the paint should be liquid when you press the tissue into it. If it isn't, the tissue sticks to the paint and the elephant, and tears when you try to lift it away, no matter how gentle you are.

For the first elephant, I tried a mixture of blue and purple, painted loosely over the surface of the elephant.

The resulting print picked up the elephant's texture quite well, and even embossed texture into the facial tissue. Obviously it's very hard to get the tissue into all areas, but as long as you lay the tissue down and press gently, you'll get a pretty good print. I also found it helpful to hold a finger on the belly area of the elephant with my left hand while pressing the rest of the elephant with my right, to keep things from sliding around.

I was pleased with the first one, so I thought I'd try a couple more.

For the final print, in a nod to sumi-e, I decided to try black paint.

These little prints won't last in archival terms, but I really like the way they turned out. And, fair warning: next time I'm in an Asian restaurant, I might just be eyeing that little octopus on your plate for a bit of real gyotaku.

Elephant Lore of the Day
The Japanese kanji character for elephant (zou) looks like an abstract elephant. According to one site, the elephant's head and ear are represented by the double square near the top. The line above the square signifies the elephant's trunk. The bottom part evokes the legs and tail, in the vertical lines sticking out. The sketch below makes it a little more clear, and the series of boxes at the top show you how to draw the character.

Source: http://japanese.about.com/library/blkow23.htm

To hear what the word for elephant sounds like in Japanese, click here and go to the last item on the list.


To Support Elephant Welfare
World Wildlife Fund
World Society for the Protection of Animals
Elephant sanctuaries (this Wikipedia list allows you to click through to information on a number of sanctuaries around the world)
Performing Animal Welfare Society
Zoocheck
Bring the Elephant Home
African Wildlife Foundation

Elephant No. 92: Aluminum Can Luminaire

Making a luminaire or lantern from an aluminum can is something I've been wanting to do for a while, but I don't really drink beer, and I wanted a beer-sized can to work with. Luckily, we had guests last night who were willing to drink the canned beer we had, so today seemed like a good day to try it.

The Internet abounds in instructions on how to make various kinds of lanterns from aluminum cans, but most of them are extremely simple, and weren't what I had in mind. I had seen some stunning luminaires made with beer cans a couple of months ago, and crazily decided that this was the only kind of aluminum masterpiece that interested me.

Needless to say, aside from pretty pictures, there are no instructions on how to make the kind of detailed luminaire I wanted to make, other than the rather cryptic: "Use a Dremel® tool." This is not helpful to me. Not that I don't know what a Dremel tool is—I actually have two: a cheapo version, and a real Dremel—but how I would use this on an aluminum can was something of a mystery.

I started with an empty, washed Heineken can. I chose a beer can rather than a soda can, because I wanted the height that the larger beer cans have.

Next, I drew something on a sheet of peel-and-stick labels in pencil. I started from a photograph, because I wanted some sort of scene rather than a single elephant, and I wanted it to look fairly realistic. This is the photograph I chose:

Photo: Gary M. Stolz
Source: http://news.discovery.com/animals/elephants-bees-111122.html

I wrapped the label sheet around the can before I started, and cut something that fit both the circumference and the height of the can. I wanted to make a design that went all the way around, although it would have been just as good to make a one-sided design—and perhaps even better in some respects.

Here's where it got a bit tricky for me. When I was drawing the design, I wasn't thinking in terms of which parts would be cut away for the light to shine through, and which parts would remain opaque. Faced with my drawing, it took me awhile to figure out what to cut away—and also how to cut away so that I didn't accidentally cut all around an entire area and leave myself with a big, weird blank. Taking the somewhat easy way out, I opted to make a sort of stencil, shading the areas to be cut away.

I peeled of the back of the label sheet next, and stuck it to the aluminum can. I made a tiny fold in the middle of the top edge of the label sheet so that I could align it more or less with the centre of the design on the can. I don't know that it really matters, since the can will be dark when you light the luminaire, but it appealed to my sense of symmetry to pay attention to that particular detail.

Now comes what I thought would be the fun part, but it really wasn't. There are a number of challenges involved in cutting through this kind of thin aluminum, and I never did arrive at a truly satisfactory solution.

Despite the mantra, "Use a Dremel tool," I didn't—at least not at first. I prefer quiet hand-powered tools and implements to things that spin at 30,000 rpm. The first thing I tried was a small utility knife. This actually worked really well for the first few cuts. After that, the thin aluminum starts to work against you, buckling whenever you cut too close to a previous line. Two things happen in that case: the aluminum develops unsightly dents; and the aluminum actually tears.

Next I tried small scissors. I discovered that cuticle scissors worked best, because they have very fine blades and tips, and they have a slight curve, which was actually very helpful. The curved blade helps you avoid jagged right-angle cuts, which are virtually unavoidable with straight-bladed scissors, no matter how fine. And of course don't use your best scissors, because they'll quickly become dull.

This too has its limitations, however, the most important of which is the need to create some kind of pilot hole as a starting point for your scissors. The knife blade wasn't great for the reasons noted above, so I bit the bullet and dragged out the rotary tool. And safety glasses.

Surprisingly, the tool doesn't dig right into the metal. The metal is certainly not thick, so I found this a bit mystifying. Various cutting and drilling bits mostly glanced off the aluminum unless I kept the tool in one place. Other drawbacks included the inability of the cutting bit to go around tight curves, and the width of the cuts with any of the drill bits. I went back to the knife and scissors.

Eventually I figured out that, if I cut off the top of the can and put a piece of sturdy cardboard behind the design, I could cut a pilot line with the knife, then use the scissors. That's how I finished the rest of the design.

To make it a little less plain at the top, I scalloped a sort of treetop edge. Obviously this doesn't matter when it's lit up and in the dark, but I wanted it to look finished even when it wasn't lit.

Now I had to peel off the label material, which took me forever. It resisted any attempt to peel it off in large pieces, and mostly came away in bits, leaving a lot of adhesive behind. Eventually I got it mostly cleaned off, and ready to go.

I was a bit trepidatious about adding a tea light and lighting this, because if it looked stupid or raggedy or something, I was going to be pretty disappointed. Luckily, I love the way it turned out, although it was hard to photograph—and the camera doesn't do a 360˚ view, either.

A couple of people have asked me lately what my favourite elephants are so far. There have been a couple I've really liked, but I think this is probably my favourite—at least for now.

Elephant Lore of the Day
Although the notion that elephants can get drunk has been debunked by scientists, elephants are still often associated with various forms of alcohol. In 1955, the Danish brewing company Carlsberg created Elephant Beer, although its origins are more interesting than the usual associations with an elephant's wisdom, strength and size.

In 1901, brewer Carl Jacobsen commissioned architect J.L. Dahlerup to create a tower resting on four elephants, carved from Danish granite. Jacobsen's inspiration was the elephant obelisk at the Piazza della Minerva in Rome, which he had seen on his travels.

Each of the Danish tower's four elephants bears the initial of one of Jacobsen's four children: Theodora, Paula, Helge and Vagn. Installed at the entrance to the brewery, the Elephant Gate, as it was known, became a local landmark. Carl Jacobsen's motto, Laboremus pro Patria ("Let us work for our country") was inscribed to the west of the gate, and since that time, the elephant has been closely associated with the Carlsberg brewing company.

Carlsberg's Elephant Beer debuted in 1955 under the name Export Lager Beer, and featured an elephant on the label. Originally sold in Ghana, the Gold Coast, Nigeria and Malawi, Elephant Beer was launched on the Danish market in 1959. Elephant Beer is still brewed in Copenhagen, and by license in local breweries around the world.

Two of the elephants at the Elephant Gate, Carlsberg Breweries, Copenhagen.
Source: http://www.carlsberggroup.com/media/gallery/Pages/
gallery.aspx?fp=PublishingImages%2FHistory&vt=file

To Support Elephant Welfare
World Wildlife Fund
World Society for the Protection of Animals
Elephant sanctuaries (this Wikipedia list allows you to click through to information on a number of sanctuaries around the world)
Performing Animal Welfare Society
Zoocheck
Bring the Elephant Home
African Wildlife Foundation

Elephant No. 91: Spatter Painting with Toothbrush

Today I thought I'd try something that I haven't done since I was a kid: toothbrush painting.

People have looked after their teeth in a variety of ways since prehistorical times. Chew sticks, twigs, feathers, bones and porcupine quills have all been found in various archaeological digs. The first known toothbrush dates from 3000 B.C., in the form of a twig with a frayed end.

For millennia in India, the twigs of the neem or banyan tree have been used. The end of the twig is chewed until soft and frayed, then is used to brush the teeth. In the Middle East, twigs from the arak tree are used in a similar fashion. Both neem and arak twigs have antiseptic properties. 

Pastes made with baking soda, chalk and other similar abrasives have also been used throughout history, simply rubbed across the teeth with a finger. In 1223 A.D., a Japanese Zen master reported that he had seen monks in China cleaning their teeth with brushes made of horsehair, attached to a handle made of ox bone. 

Since 1498 A.D., the Chinese have used a form of bristle toothbrush. It is believed that use of this early toothbrush spread to Europe along trade routes, and is the prototype for the toothbrushes we use today.

Toothbrushes were not mass-produced until 1780, when they were marketed by Englishman William Addis. In 1770, Addis had been jailed for causing a riot. During his imprisonment, he decided that he could improve on the usual method for cleaning teeth: rubbing a damp rag with soot and salt across the teeth and gums. He took a small animal bone, drilled holes in it, got some bristles from a guard, tied the bristles into tufts, and glued the tufts into the holes. Addis became very rich from his invention, and the company continues to this day under the Wisdom Toothbrushes brand. 

By 1840, toothbrushes were being mass-produced across Europe and in Japan, with pig bristle used for cheap toothbrushes and badger hair for a higher-quality version. The first toothbrush patent was applied for in the United States in 1857, although mass-production in the U.S. didn't begin until 1885. The first U.S. brushes had bone handles, with Siberian boar hair bristles. Unfortunately, animal bristles have never been an ideal material, since they don't dry well, and retain bacteria.

In 1938, the chemical company DuPont created nylon fibres for use in toothbrushes, and the first synthetic-bristle toothbrush went on sale in February of that year. Interestingly, cleaning teeth was not routine until the Second World War, when soldiers were required to brush their teeth every day.

I couldn't find any information on the genesis of toothbrush art, but it probably goes hand in hand with the invention of synthetic brushes. Today, toothbrushes are used in art primarily for spatter painting, although some artists also use them as actual brushes.

For today's elephant, I decided to try the spatter method. I unearthed a new kiddie-sized toothbrush that my sister had given me as a joke a few years ago, which seemed like the perfect size.

For paints, I opted to use a set of cake watercolours that I've had for at least 20 years. I like the pan size on these, which seemed perfect for the toothbrush I had.

I started with a slightly watery paint consistency. It's not completely liquid, but it's also not all that thick, either.

To spatter paint with a toothbrush, you simply use your thumb—I actually found that my index finger often gave me more control and directionality—running it against the bristles to flick paint onto the paper.

It's exceedingly hard to control, just like my paint-flicking spatter-painting experiment, so it's a good idea to use something as a sort of mask. I didn't want hard lines like you'd get with an actual masking fluid or tape, so I simply folded a bit of aluminum foil and held it near the paper while I flicked. It wasn't foolproof by any means, but it helped me concentrate some of the paint, some of the time, to a certain extent.

Once I could see the basic design taking shape, I got a bit more confident.

The droplets are quite fine, and depend primarily on the thickness of the paint loaded onto the toothbrush. If I used a slightly wet toothbrush and ran it over the cake of paint to make a fairly thick pigment, the droplets were heavier, more opaque, and less splattery. Obviously, at the opposite, more watery, end of the spectrum, the paint is fainter, finer and spreads over a wider area.

Your flicking technique also comes into play. The more gently you run your finger or thumb over the brush, the lighter the spray, and the more limited the area. The more violent you are, the more the paint flies.

After I'd layered and thickened most of the design, I added a bit of black to shape things a bit. My ability to do this was limited within the time I had today, but you get the idea.

I also added a bit of white to try and create some highlights—which didn't really work—and a tusk—which sort of worked.

I kind of like the dreamy quality of the final result, although I wish I'd had more time to shape things. I didn't really love this poor man's airbrush technique, however, because of the lack of control, but I might try it again with proper masking and a lot more time to play with it.

Elephant Lore of the Day
Elephants need dental checkups just like humans. At most zoos, elephants are trained to open wide for the dentist, who checks to see that there are no tooth fragments that need to be pulled.

Dental care also applies to an elephant's tusks, since these are simply very long teeth. In late 2010 in Kerala, India, a 27-year-old elephant named Devidasan developed a painful 48-centimetre (19-inch) crack in one of his tusks. Dr. C.V. Pradeep, a local dentist, decided to try filling the crack with the same resin used to repair human teeth.

The operation lasted two hours, took 47 tubes of resin, and required specially modified equipment. One of the challenges was that there were no mobile x-ray machines big enough. The elephant was tranquilized, however, and was cooperative throughout the procedure.

The repair not only got rid of the elephant's toothache, but also removed the possibility of a potentially deadly infection, should dirt have gotten into the crack and remained there.


To Support Elephant Welfare
World Wildlife Fund
World Society for the Protection of Animals
Elephant sanctuaries (this Wikipedia list allows you to click through to information on a number of sanctuaries around the world)
Performing Animal Welfare Society
Zoocheck
Bring the Elephant Home
African Wildlife Foundation