In our last episode, History of Watercolor - Part I, I began my compilation of "greatest hits" in water-based paintings throughout time. A project I dreamt up while waiting for a book to arrive about the history of watercolor. Too antsy to just sit around and wait, I foraged the internet for historic watercolor images, starting back in the Paleolithic era and up to modern times. So far I've been loving this trip through some absolutely stunning pieces of artwork from the past. And, as I mentioned last time, while I have no degree in art history, I have an insatiable curiosity about my artistic ancestors. And a strong desire to learn from them and to pay my respects.

Our next stop on the watercolor tour is in Europe during the Middle Ages. Where artists often created paintings in tempera and gold leaf on wooden panels. Tempera was paint made from minerals, plants and even insects(!) ground to a powder and mixed with egg. Why the egg? Because it gives a nice, creamy consistency while making the paint hard and durable. The drawback is that tempera dries uber-quick. So quick that it's difficult to blend one color into another in a smooth transition. And here I diverge from the main topic, but that's why so many artists began mixing their pigments with oil instead of egg. They discovered that oil dries much slower and makes blending infinitely easier. So gradually tempera was fazed out in favor of oils. Although to this day some artists still love working in tempera.

The small tempera painting above, by Italian artist Duccio, depicts a tender, intimate moment between the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus. The infant reaches up to his mother's face, a face saddened by the premonition of her darling child's death on the cross. It's a poignant, very human moment, and yet seems simultaneously sacred and divine. How otherworldly this painting must have looked back when it was in its original setting, enveloped in a glowing field of gold in the flickering light of a candle.

Medieval times gave birth to bound books in Europe. At first monks produced these handmade manuscripts with text only, just to study scripture. Later on books were widely circulated to spread Christianity to the general population. Only problem was, most people couldn't read. So, like early comic strips, monks designed picture books for the illiterate to learn bible stories and the fear of Judgment Day.

It was when the aristocracy got into illuminated manuscripts that these books really took off and became things of unimaginable beauty. Illustrated by the very best artists. "Illuminated" with silver and gold. And lavishly decorated with the priciest color of all, a rich, royal blue made from lapis gemstones. They were gorgeously, elaborately painted in tempera on vellum, a thin material made from the skins of unborn calves.

One of the most famous and exquisitely illuminated manuscripts of them all is the Book of Hours, or Les Tres Riches Heures. Painted by renowned Dutch artists, the Limbourg Brothers. It was commissioned in France by the Duke of Berry, a voracious patron of the arts. A book of hours was supposed to be a private prayer book for connecting with the Virgin Mary at set times of the day. But the art-besotted Duke kept adding more and more pages and themes to his book. Maybe he just couldn't bear to clip the creative juices of the magnificent Limbourgs while they were on a roll!

Okay, show of hands. Who here has seen this image before? Painted in the Renaissance by Michelangelo Buonarroti on the ceiling of the Vatican's Sistine Chapel, it's one of the most famous images in the entire world. And guess what, it's a fresco, which is watercolor painted on fresh, wet plaster.

How Michelangelo could paint such a fabulous, ginormous design way up high on the ceiling, getting it done before the plaster was dry is beyond me. Of course he didn't paint the whole chapel at once, only section by section, but still. And the poor guy never even wanted to start this project. He kept trying to beg off, claiming he was no painter. Actually he was dying to get back to work on his life's real passion, his sculptures. But no, Pope Julius II wouldn't hear of it. So instead of marble, Michelangelo "carved" figures out of paint, twisting and turning them in three-dimensional positions that made them look just like sculpture. Turns out that Michelangelo could really paint after all. He chose gorgeous colors of great delicacy, and his massive figures were incredibly graceful, full of ideal beauty and elegance.

The Creation of Adam is just one scene in the chapel that Michelangelo painted from the Bible's Book of Genesis. It shows the moment before God gave life to man. Adam, made out of dust, passively waits for the spark of creativity that comes from divine consciousness. Much like Michelangelo himself, who believed that his own creativity came only through the grace of God.

This work is from the year 1502, and we're finally coming to a painting that you might instantly recognize as a "watercolor". Young Hare, by German artist Albrecht Dürer, was, in fact painted with both watercolor and gouache. And on paper, not vellum.

So what's the difference between watercolor and gouache? Well, they're both made from the same basic ingredients. Ground pigments mixed with gum arabic and water. Only gouache has more pigment than watercolor, and the pigment is ground into larger particles. It also contains white pigment, which kicks up its opacity and gives it a slightly chalky look. Gouache, a French word coming from the Italian  "guazzo", or mud, gives you an idea of its nature in comparison to the more luminous, transparent quality of watercolor.

Dürer's masterpiece, Young Hare, is painted in great scientific detail. He skillfully indicates the texture of the fur and seemingly every strand of hair and whisker on the body. He bathes the animal in a warm, golden light that gives it life. What an amazing accomplishment! How could he possibly have observed that hare so closely, and gotten such a skittish creature to sit so still? One theory is that he used a stuffed hare as his model, but perhaps Dürer was some kind of wizard with a special knowledge of magic. We may never know.

Well, I hope you've enjoyed this week's installment. Stay tuned for Part III.

Ever since I started working in watercolor I've wondered about the watercolor artists that came before me. In my imagination I feel a deep connection to them, and long to know about them. And be inspired by their work. So I decided to look around for a good history of the subject. Either in a book or maybe even a university course. If only I could find one.

As far as I can tell watercolor isn't taken all that seriously in art historical circles. Unfortunately this impression was not dispelled when a search came up empty at my public library. So I ordered a book online, called A History of Watercolor, by Bernard Brett. (Hope it's good, I'll have to circle back to you on that.)

Meanwhile I poked around the internet and cobbled together examples of awe-inspiring watercolors from throughout the ages. Thought I may as well begin at the beginning, and take it up to modern times in future posts. I'm no art historian and this is not a scholarly presentation. It's just a small collection, or a sort of scrapbook of fascinating images I found during my explorations.

But first, what is watercolor, anyway? Put simply, watercolor paint consists of finely ground pigments mixed with water. Plus different add-ins for specific effects. The add-ins need to play well with water. This eliminates any oily substance. Because we all know that oil and water don't mix.

But wait, hold on a minute. It's only the first painting and already I've broken the rules. Because way back in France, during Paleolithic times, ground up minerals were sometimes mixed with animal fat to make paint. And surely that doesn't qualify as watercolor! But pigments were often mixed with plain old water, too, or even colored plant sap. And while I have no idea if this particular cave painting was made with water-based paints or not, it's still pretty amazing, isn't it? The artist so skillfully depicts the animated spirit of the bull that it almost seems to sprint across the cave wall. So, moving right along ...

Next we have the facsimile of a gorgeous painting from the Tomb of Menna in Luxor, Egypt. (Copy by Nina de Garis Davies,  Metropolitan Museum of Art). Another example of ancient artists that closely, and I would say lovingly observe the animals and plant life in their world. The original was painted using mineral pigments mixed with gypsum and water. Definitely water based. And painted on a plaster wall, not a cave. (But is it a fresco? Um, I dunno, but I tried to find out, really I did.)

Okay so now we're definitely in true fresco territory. Nature-loving artists in ancient Crete used water-based paint on freshly plastered walls. Painting on wet plaster is the very definition of fresco. And because it was fresh and moist the colors sank right into it, which made the image quite durable. Maybe that's why we still get to enjoy this charming painting of playful dolphins, even though it's so very, very old.

What an incredibly beautiful fresco painting, right? Apparently it's a rather large mural painted in a Roman-style. Discovered in an excavated villa near Pompeii in southern Italy. Notice how three-dimensional the figures and chair are, and how the sparkling eyes seem to look back at us from across time. So different from the work we've seen so far. Can you imagine how many exquisite paintings must have existed in ancient Roman times? The only reason we have any of these mural paintings at all is because Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, which buried and preserved them in volcanic ash. Phew.

Meanwhile, in ancient China, artists were busy painting with ink and watercolor on silk. How skilled they were at capturing the beauty and fleeting pleasures of nature! Observe the holes and brown spots in the leaves, and how the bird looks as if it might take off and fly away at any second. So much to admire and learn from the artists of the past!

Well, that's it for now, folks. Stay tuned for Part II.