A Love Letter to Underpainting

Ever since I became a painter, I’ve loved underpainting. It has such personality; a glimpse into the artist’s mind. It’s always made me feel connected to painters through the ages. As I tour museums of ancient art and see how the pigments have faded away to reveal the first layers--a bit of terre verte creeping to the surface; the greenish bloom spreading under pale pink skin-- It's a reminder of the human quality of painting; of practice and process. It breaks down the complexity of an artwork and brings it back to the bare basics, to an imperfect state of beginning. It’s a comforting feeling; knowing that under the layers of perfectly situated pigments and carefully placed brushstrokes, there was a beginning, a human hand, a plan.

When I view artworks in museums, I get distracted by the technically perfect. Early art eras blend together into a parade of similarities; color, shape, form repeated in ancient stories and styles that feel indiscernible without their rich context. The final form feels inaccessible somehow, the paradigm of painting perfection, with no beginning or process in sight. It seems like an impossible feat to attempt. But then you catch a glimpse at a rogue pigment peeking through the cracks and see the painting for what it was; a project, a plan that worked out. The underpainting is, as I see it, the blueprint, the draft that is rarely seen except for in its final form.

Underpaintings are a tool for the artist, done for the purpose of understanding value, structure, light and color. In traditional methods, an earth-based pigment was applied in layers with the addition of white to create a study of value and to understand the subject without color. This is then layered over to form the final piece.

I prefer to start my paintings with a bold wash of color. I look at my reference or think about the feeling I want the painting to have. And then I paint the opposite. I begin my warm paintings with a cooler base, and my cool paintings with a red-hot transparent red oxide. I lay my base color and then draw the image into the oils. This allows for more fluidity and the ability to change shapes and shadows easily. My sketches are a mumble of the painting, in no way fleshed out or perfect. Paintings begin with a feeling, and the underpainting is that feeling in its most imperfect form.

The process of the painting then takes on a tone of growth. You’ve created a problem of sorts, by using this all-consuming color. You decide you need to cover it up or alter it in some way to reach your final goal. You realize, with the help of a phthalo blue base, that the warm skin tone you initially observed is really more of a purple. Glaze with a magenta pigment and add back the highlights. That tone of blonde hair really needs more green, and less yellow ochre. Begin to add ultramarine glazes that bring depth and form to your final painting. You see what’s wrong with your image and work through the next layers to correct it. You are presenting yourself with a problem to solve that, in solving, you create something you wouldn’t have been able to see before. And somewhere in that painting, as time fades away and pigments disappear, a note will be left of your history and your human hand behind the layers.

About Jessica

Image: Gapka Yellow Oxide Transparent