There seems to be a current trend among some realism enthusiasts to posit the idea that "modern" art and modern artists were somehow responsible for severing the links to the great masters and technicques of the past. The idea being that if art had been allowed to go along it's natural route without the modernists mucking things up, people would have never been cow-towed into liking art that deep in their hearts they know to be garbage. Does it sound as silly as it reads? There are many factors that led to the development of modern art but I would think that the suppression of realism would have to rank very low on that list. I personally don't believe that an us against them attitude is healthy for any art movement and that, in fact, it could prevent current trends in realistic painting from ever being taken seriously. One has to remember that historically there have been countries and regimes where realistic art was the only art allowed to be made, under threat of death, and one has to be careful not to cross the line from realism supporter to realism demander.
      All art is essentially abstract. Every good realist painter knows this. Theres more to it than just rendering an image. Unlike many of the self annointed spokesman who have gotten on their high horse, I am of the opinion that this is a great time to be a realistic artist. That in fact, modernism will be seen historically to have helped bring realist artists to new modes of thinking that will make twenty first century realism an art period that can stand on it's own, truly capable of producing "new old masters". I've always felt that theres something of value to be learned from every person that I meet and I feel the same way about art.
      When I am in the initial stages of a painting, when I have just a straight line drawing roughed in with a simplified color scheme, my painting looks like a "bad" Matisse. Yet it is my experience of Matisses art that allows me to tinker with the painting at this stage in ways that won't be visible at all in the finished product but will be there never the less. I would be very remiss if there was no Matisse. I have no desire to make art that looks like his, yet I still can draw inspiration from it. The man clearly took great joy from the act of painting. His pushing of the barriers of composing on a two dimensional surface have helped me to set my own parameters. I feel the same way about Diebenkorn, who felt the same way about Matisse. Diebenkorns work gave me new insights into Matisse and both their work constantly informs my great admiration for and appreciation of the works of Chardin. The bottom line is that it's all just paint on canvas. I'm a painter first and a realist artist second. I don't want to turn off that part of my brain that responds to paint as substance. Ideas before expression can be poison to any kind of art, it's why modern art and postmodernism, which is all idea and very little substance have run out of steam.
      Picasso's "Girl Before a Mirror" leaves me breathless in the same way that I respond to Titians "Venus with Mirror" or Velazquez's painting of the same title. When Picasso made that painting I am sure that he had those artists in mind and not in a disrespectful "let's tear down the Louvre" way but in his own way paying homage. Artist's are shaped by the times in which they live. How could it be otherwise? If there were artists during Picassos time who could paint with the skill of Velasquez or Titian than they should have stepped up to the plate. Enough of this whining. Artists of today will have to do the same. It's not enough to put a postcard of an old master in the background of your painting. It's put up or shut up time. "If you build it they will come" If true masterpieces are produced they will find willing and receptive audiences. In order for that to happen Realist art has to be made that looks like it is of "it's own time". That won't happen if artists are wearing blinders. It doesn't mean that one has to like and accept all kinds of art, but conspiracy theories are better left to the province of bad novels and silly movies. When I was in college my professor was an abstract, almost minimalist painter. Yet he showed me some of his ealier work which was very tightly rendered and very well done realistic painting. How did he get from point a to point b? I'm sure there were many factors. If he had tried to turn me into a realistic or a minimalistic painter I would have rebelled. Why? It was in my nature to rebel. I was young, hardheaded, and I always had the sneaking suspicion that I knew more than everybody. A lot of art movements can probably be chalked up to a bunch of young rebellious artists getting together and raising some hell. It is doubtful that there would have been some kind of master plan. I couldn't see past my nose when I was that age and judging from my own kids I don't think things have changed much. If Realism ever becomes the dogma that Modern art has become in most colleges then Realism will once again become the art movement to rebel against. One of the reasons for the back to basics movement that is taking place in the studios of so many private ateliers is because those traditions are not being taught in most colleges. Of course I'm oversimplifying a very complex set of circumstances but I think the basic idea holds true.It is in  the nature of art to constantly mutate. As my heading says, "let's not throw out the baby with the bath water". As a staunchly realistic painter I feel that all art is part of my history; I don't feel a severed connection to the art of the past, I'm not a Pre-Picassoite. My love of Mozart doesn't prevent me from getting excited when a Ramones song comes on the radio, why should my art be any different?

     A while back, like twenty odd years ago, when I was first learning to play guitar, I was having some frustration over my inability to improvise lead solos. I went to a friend of mine who plays amazingly well and he explained to me that many guitar solos are made up of a series of strung together cliches. It is the musicians use of those cliches that turns it into a stirring rock anthem.
   Painting also has it's cliches. There are certain artists who are all cliche and no substance and others who take the cliche and make it seem new and meaningful. Chardin would be a good example of the latter. He used many of the same cliches that can be found in the paintings of the dutch masters and made them his own. One would never mistake a Chardin for  a Dutch master's still life.
     Some of the cliches that I've been taught to use have become for me musical scales that help me in the organization and completeness of my work. One example would be the dark accent placed within the cast shadow. Sometimes it causes the darkest part of the object and the shadow to meld, adding "gravitas" or weight to the image. Another cliche is to float a highlight within a trail of diminishing values, sort of like the tail of a comet. The tail can be sharper or subtle depending on how much attention you want to bring to the area. Adding a spot of color to a dull looking shadow area can add life to a painting suffering from "gravy" disease. One of my favorite artists, Delacroix, would often throw a few notes of complementary colors into his shadows which would cause them to scintillate. Another cliche that is often used with highlights is to place a small note of pure cadmium next to the brightest part of a highlight. This is a little harder to do with subtlety and like most cliches it can look heavy handed if you're not careful. I'm not sure where this particular cliche originated but it's easily visible in the work of Vermeer who may have detected it through his use of the "camera obscura". It is easy to see in most photographs involving sunlight. Simultaneous contrast is another cliche that has to be used with care. The trick is, as I'm learning from my instructor, to do it without drawing attention to it. Since simultaneous contrast is a real phenomenon, it won't appear disconcerting if it's done correctly but in effect adds a greater degree of naturalism because backgounds do appear lighter, in most instances, behind the darker side of an object.
       When I paint I am geared up with tools that twenty years ago I would never have imagined myself using. I have always loved Chardin but for a long time I couldn't reconcile his self portrait where to me he looks like an old grandmother with the no nonsense approach of his still life paintings. But now as I'm approaching fifty I finally "get it". I know I look like a geek with my visor on. (see my self portrait in the "works" section) but I don't care. The visor helps to keep unwanted glare from distorting my vision and also keeps my pupils in shadow allowing them to recieve more light. When I start a painting I use a viewfinder made up of two cardboard "l"s. I sight my support through it to get the correct proportion and then use it to frame my composition. I can't imagine starting a painting without it. I even use it when I'm painting out of doors. For a long time my instructor had been nagging me to pick up a reducing glass. It looks like a magnifying glass except that it reduces the image. I couldn't really see the need for it, I figured I'd just step back when I needed a longer view. When I finally did get around to getting one I found that it has a lot more use than just shrinking the view of your painting. If you point it at the object being painted it simplifies values and the overall tonal structure, kind of like squinting with your eyes wide open. You can also point it at your painting and it reduces your painted image to about the sight-size measurement of your setup. Then you can squint and compare both images to really check your values and edges. I use it when landscape painting because it takes that whole big world that can sometimes swallow up a painting and reduces it to a manageable area. The same is true when you're painting an interior where often the problem is that you're in the space that you're painting which can end up giving you're interior a fish bowl perspective. The reducing glass in essence allows you to pull back from the scene and view it with greater detachment.
     A pair of calipers is another tool that I can't live without. It is invaluable in the initial stages for checking the symmetry of bottles, the squareness of the edge of a table. My caliper is just an old fashioned compass with a pencil attached which allows me to make little marks for reference. The mirror is of course widely used by most representational painters. I have grown to hate the mirror. There I am cruising along, rapidly developing a painting when I think that maybe I should look in the mirror just to check for problems. I'm sure everything is okay so it won't hurt to have a reverse peek. Oh that damn mirror! There is nothing more humbling. It catches me out every time.
    I was discussing cliches with one of my studio colleagues recently and we both came to the conclusion that cliches become cliches for a good reason; they work. The use of cliches would never be the sole reason for the failure of a painting any more than playing in a single key would weaken a song. It is what the artist does with the cliches that makes them work. Most of the time you don't even realize they're there. To use another bad anology they're like the spices in a recipe; flavorful but elusive. So I guess in a sense I have become the cliche of the eccentric looking artist. There I am with my visor, and my Boars Head smock(don't ask), holding up my viewing frame, squinting like a mole, looking over my shoulder with a mirror, Sherlock Holmes like with my glass, and having the time of my life because it is all starting to make sense.