Direct Watercolor: Report on Week Two

This week I got more deeply into the underside of life along the tracks. The old warehouses, formerly used for manufacturing, have been turned into artist's spaces and light manufacturing. They're also canvases for graffiti on the sides that face the bike path and railroad, rather than the street above the tracks. It's not very artistic graffiti, either - mostly tagging and layers on top of layers, at that. When I walk or bike on the path, I find I'm kind of grateful for the sudden bursts of color, but it's also rather grim and decayed when you get up close and really look. Within the buildings, beyond the grilled windows, I can sometimes hear music and machinery; people are working and making things. But from the "back side", this is what you see.

The week's sketches actually began with this one. There's a contentious chain link fence all along the railroad. People continually cut human-size holes so they can cross the rails on foot or bring their bikes across; the railroad patches these holes, the next night they're re-cut. Neighborhood lobbying for a grade crossing has never borne fruit. I often cross the tracks via these cuts to get to the bike path on the far side from my studio building, and they're a big part of the reality of this zone for many of us, so I thought I should paint one. 

Trees and grapevines on the edge of the tracks: a much more classic watercolor, ore typical for me -- and frankly, a relief to paint.

And, finally, the appearance of a human. This path is used all year-round, by walkers, runners, cyclists, parents with various child-conveyances, and, in the winter, cross-country skiers. It's great because it's a long, unpaved, hard dirt path, and there's no car traffic whatsoever, not even any intersections with streets. That's because it's on the level of the railroad, and all the streets run below through overpasses such as the one I sketched last week. At certain times of the day it's quiet, but usually there are quite a lot of people using the path, especially in good weather. A few of the warehouses have makeshift picnic areas in back, beyond the chain-link fence, so sometimes I'll see groups of people sitting out there for lunch or taking a break. The city has also grouped some large flat rocks in several areas along the path itself, and I'll often pass people who are seated there, talking or eating, or just sitting alone. I also see photographers quite frequently, but I've never run across anyone with a sketchbook. 

So -- how's it going? I admit to a waning of interest, mainly because the environment is just not very beautiful, no matter how hard one searches, and in the present depressing world I don't think it's healthy for me to spend too much time focused on a grim subject for my art. 

I've also found it difficult to work in my sketchbook, since these are not really sketches but paintings that require a lot of water. I can't get it as wet as I'd like, and that's a problem. The paper is good, but it does buckle with even a small amount of wet pigment, and I've had to iron the pages to flatten them again -- so, all in all, I feel like I'm hampered by the sketchbook, not helped. It would be better to be working on a watercolor block or single sheets of a heavier weight.

On the positive side, the constraint of working directly to watercolor, without pen or pencil drawing first, has not been a problem at all. Drawing with the side and tip of the dagger brush works just fine, and saves a great deal of time -- so that's been a good discovery. For a more finished painting, I would use a pencil sketch, but I'm glad to have had this chance to experiment and find out that for a lot of the work, a brush drawing is sufficient.

That's even true for perspective and architecture! (Thanks, Liz Steel!) Having overcome my reluctance to draw buildings, I'm looking forward to doing some loose sketches of Montreal architecture, which is varied and interesting, with lots of detail in roofs, cornices, and steeples, as well as those iconic spiral staircases. I like the informality and liveliness that result when  perspective is loosely, but not slavishly, conveyed. This was a problem for me before, and one of the happiest results of recent experiments in Lisbon, and now here, has been the knowledge that this is a good direction for me to take.

I feel like I've done enough with the railroad subject to be free to let it go, at this point. Perhaps I'll return to it or do a few more of these, but I think I want to turn to some other nearby places for the remainder of the pages in this book. Next week I'll be going somewhere very different, and will take another sketchbook with me.

Do let me know what you think! Your comments have been illuminating and helpful -- thank you!