Today it reached a balmy high of 68°F. One more auspicious sign that spring is on its way in my corner of the world. Before you know it it'll be time to paint outdoors again, yay! It's what I dream about all during the nippy winter months.

But spring isn't quite here yet. So I'm still painting still lifes indoors with stuff I find around the house. And that's no hardship at all. Because it's actually fun to paint still lifes.

Especially because I'm still punching my way out of a habit in my painting practice.  When I'm in deep concentration I sometimes forget to use enough water in my paint mixtures. Enough water to let the paint flow easily over the paper. If I forget, the sizing of the paper gets ever so slightly beat up. And the work loses just a bit of it's clear brightness.

I think I'll put a sign over my easel that says: "It's WATER-color! Don't Forget the WATER!"

All in a day's work, as I teach myself to master the watercolor medium.

I'm happy to knock this lesson into my coconut while I'm still working indoors. In comfort. Without the distraction of the glaring sun, inquisitive onlookers, the occasional wild animal, and biting insects. And wondering where the nearest bathroom is.

Today I'm featuring three very domestic, indoor watercolors. The painting of two apples is a new one. You may have seen the other two before, because I pulled them up from the archives. Hope you enjoy them, and thanks for visiting!

I'm honored and thrilled that my watercolor was picked for an art exhibit at the Grand Central Terminal in New York City. Me and my buddies in the NYC Urban Sketchers were recently invited to submit our work for the show. Enlarged copies of the originals are up in the Great Hall and surrounding hallways until late spring of 2021. If you happen to be near there please take a look.

I painted my Grand Central watercolor from a photograph. Not my usual thing. For this sort of view I much prefer working on location. But during these strange and unusual times the NYC Urban Sketchers have been meeting on Zoom instead of in person. Lately if I'm not painting an interior or a still life, a photo reference is what there is to work from. But that's okay, it's good to shake things up occasionally. Exploring new possibilities keeps life fresh. And I'll appreciate painting outdoors so much more when it becomes possible again.

If you live in the New York metropolitan area you may have passed by this sculpture a gazillion times, most likely in a hurry on your way somewhere. And like me, you probably never knew much about it. Aptly called "Transportation", it was designed by French sculptor Jules Coutan. The whole statuary is ginormous and weighs 1500 tons. It was carved in pieces and assembled on top of the building in 1914. The Roman god Mercury is the star in the center, poised on a gorgeous Tiffany clock. Hercules and Minerva play supporting roles on either side. Grand indeed!

There are lots more fun facts about this sculpture and many other fascinating treasures at Grand Central. In normal times you can take a very entertaining audio tour of them, and perhaps it's possible even now. But it's always best to check ahead. And if you do decide to go don't forget to check out the art exhibit!

Mallomars! The chocolate cookie that's so much fun to paint. And since it's cold outside they're in season. And available right now at my local grocery store.

Though what I really wanted was another shot at that pink floral napkin. Yes, I love all the softness of the pinks against the crispy, dark cookies. But I have to confess, it's mainly because I love a good challenge. And for me, painting fabric in watercolor isn't easy. Especially patterned fabric. How come? Let me explain.

Well, one big challenge is in making the folds in the cloth look soft and rounded. Often there's a soft, subtle edge where a fold turns to the light, and a sharper, darker edge on its opposite side. A clean, moist brush will soften an edge, but just how moist is that? And since adding more water to the paint makes it lighter, I need to carefully gauge the ratio of paint to water for controlling lights and darks. All while choosing the right colors. And, as I make all these decisions, it's important to keep the paint moist and fresh, and not let it dry out. So the paint doesn't look blotchy. And the paper surface doesn't get wrecked. And the colors don't get muddy.

But wait, there's more! I also need to suggest the floral pattern, painting gingerly around the white flowers so they stay white. Why suggest? So each flower and leaf is just a little bit soft and hazy, without too much oomph. Otherwise the flowers will take over the whole painting and compete with the cookies for attention. After all, this painting is called "Mallomars, No. 3", and not "Floral Napkin with Mallomars"!

And, with all these different colors in the pattern and the folds and the lights and shadows, and keeping the white flowers white, pant, pant ... the napkin still has to read as a pretty, delicate pink.

Yes, it's a lot for a novice watercolorist! It's one thing to understand all this in theory, and quite another to actually do it. There's only one way to learn how to paint with beautiful, confident brushstrokes: Practice, practice, practice. I'm workin' on it.

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.

Like rabbits, skilled watercolorists are proliferating all over the world. Instagram is absolutely teeming with them! It's nothing short of a miracle that we can follow artists from such far flung places as China, India, Japan and Russia, as well as from every corner of my own country, the United States. We're so lucky to live in a time when it's possible to be awed and inspired by these wonderful artists every single day. And without even leaving home.

As you may know, I've only been working in watercolor for a few years now. I'm way more confident than when I first started, but I'm still sifting through the medium's technical demands and unique pictorial possibilities. I'm so humbled by the expertise and brilliance of many contemporary watercolorists. When I see their work I toss my pesky ego aside in order to appreciate and learn. Just like way back in art school, when I planted my easel near the more advanced students so I could watch them paint. I miss those easy days of camaraderie, when we all studied together and encouraged each other. Back when we had the advantage of congregating in the same studio. But one thing we didn't have was the internet. And we never even imagined connecting to a worldwide community of artists online.

So, who are these wonderful watercolorists on Instagram? Well, to get you started here are four that I like to follow: Osamu Shibata, Nina Orlova, Yong Hong Zhong, and Mayumi Taguchi. These are just a few of my favorites, and they're all different from each other. And there are so many more! Who are your favorite watercolor artists? Please tell us in the comments.

While you're checking all the other artists out, please don't forget to visit and follow julie_time. That's me, of course!

I'd love to hear from you!
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If you've been following my ramblings for a while you may recall that I belong to a club called the NYC Urban Sketchers. It's the local branch of an international group of artists of all levels, from professionals to total beginners. We get together to sketch at various locations around town, making beautiful friendships and inspiring each other along the way.

In the "before" times (gee, seems so long ago!) the NYC Urban Sketchers gathered in person once or twice a week. Now we continue to meet regularly, except virtually, at a socially safe distance. There's a sketching prompt at each meeting, and by necessity most of us work from photos. However, my own personal preference is to work from observation. So I usually paint an interior scene, or set up a still life. And try to follow the prompt as best I can.

Recently, at our online holiday party, the prompt was to sketch a festive holiday cocktail. Hmmm. That was a tall order, since I seldom have anything resembling an alcoholic drink, let alone such a fancy one. But as it happens I had just unearthed a box from deep within the forgotten recesses of my closet, filled with six adorable shot glasses from the '50s. Each glass featured a pair of flamenco dancers, each in slightly different costumes and poses. And, as my friend with a poetic flair pointed out, they are all dancing together — yet separately. Each pair in their own little glass bubble. A metaphor for our times.

I tried doing something a little different in this painting. I used hot press paper instead of my usual cold press. Hot press paper is a little less forgiving, and it's harder to go back and correct anything I may have messed up. This approach forces me to make bold, executive decisions with each brushstroke, and then just leave it alone. For better or worse. It may result in a few nicks and bruises, but overall the quality of the paint stays fresh and lively. Such a hard lesson for me to learn! My perfectionist nature shrinks back in horror at the very thought of letting something go if it's not quite right. But in watercolor, as in so many things, the perfect is the enemy of the good. Just gotta be brave, that's all.

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Sometimes paintings are so easy that they practically paint themselves. It's as if I were merely a conduit for some mysterious entity in the universe that knows exactly what to do and how to do it. For me those paintings are the most satisfying. They're the ones where suddenly I'm able to surrender my deepest longing for an ideal perfection. A perfection that exists only in my illusions.

For me, letting go of this fantasy is a rare occurrence. Usually my watercolor practice is more of a mundane affair. I find myself struggling with the complications of technique in a medium that I still find  baffling. But as I practice and experiment there are moments without as much sweating and swearing. When I'm brave enough to accept the little imperfections gracefully and allow myself to just go with the flow. Watercolor is a medium where the most beautiful effects happen when you place your brushstrokes down confidently and then just leave well enough alone. I'll get there. Eventually. It's my New Year's goal.

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Have you been enjoying this holiday season? Indulged in any celebratory treats and libations, even if you've been partying at home alone? I certainly hope so!

During the holidays I've continued doing what I love: painting! Watching online tutorials and trying to improve my watercolor skills. Just like musicians, dancers, and other artists, painters get better with good old-fashioned study and practice. In future posts I'll show you what I've been working on. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I wish we could share some holiday cheer together, right here and now in my studio. But instead I'll share my latest teacup painting, complete with coffee, cookies and cream. A little treat for my friends. With many thanks for all your encouragement and support during the past year. ❤

Good bye, 2020! May 2021 will be a kinder, sweeter and healthier year for us all.

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My sister asked me two excellent questions today that made me stop and think. The first one was: How do you get the water in your paintings to look like water?

Hmmm. I've never given this question a whole lot of thought. At least in any specific, scientifically-minded way. After all, I'm an artist, not a scientist. Truth is, I really just paint water like I paint anything else. That is, I merely observe whatever shapes and colors are right there in front of me. And I try to render them as faithfully as my pigments and skill level allow.

For example, as I painted Mums in a Bud Vase (below) I could see that the flowers had lots of crispy edges and the colors were clear and intense. The stems beneath them had softer edges and the colors were muted in comparison. This was because the glass vase formed a translucent layer in front of the stems and enveloped them in haze. An additional soupy layer was created when the stems dipped down into the water. So the stems appeared even softer and fainter there.

But wait, why do the stems seem to bend as they enter the water? Well, if I remember my physics correctly, light is a wave of energy that travels through many materials, including air and space. It can also pass through glass and water. But glass and water are denser than air, so the waves slow down as they pass through them. Slowing down makes the light waves change direction. Straight objects look as if they bend as they hit the water. Or they can seem to break and move over slightly. Or something like that. As I said, I'm not a scientist.

Okay, so I carefully painted the flowers and stems according to what I actually observed. I also included the line where the water starts in the vase. In the context of flowers and vases I think the viewer can easily tell that there's water involved!

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