Thinking Small

‘Think Small’ The simple headline was unprecedented. Bursting onto the scene in 1959, the unusual ad campaign was probably the most famous ever created by the Doyle Dane Bernbach advertising agency. Stunning everyone, it announced and positioned the VW Beetle in a completely new way, changing the very nature of advertising during that era. No one who ever saw it forgot it. It was ‘sticky’ before that word entered the broader lexicon, more tenacious than merely memorable, it was truly unforgettable. And we talked about it.

It was akin to a messaging tsunami. Why embellish product pitches with questionable platitudes? Why not state a position based on an obvious truth and challenge your target audience to think? Even though a pre-teen, I was already obsessed with cars and the simple ad did not escape my attention. I thought it brilliant. Such restraint, and yet confident, with undeniable clarity, cutting through the clutter, standing defiantly alone. Advertising Age ranked it the best advertising campaign of the century.

And now, many years later, I recall it once again, as I have recently embraced a discipline of small, a way to progress in the art of seeing, and craft of art, for both my drawing and watercolor painting. When starting, or resuming after a long absence, the fear of failure and the daunting white of the blank page often hold one back, barriers to our learning and success. And also, the notion that we should jump right into watercolor painting with a larger format, perhaps a sheet of 22” x 30” cold press cotton paper. For anyone but a master painter, it’s a likely recipe for disappointment and an impediment to making progress with the medium. In short, a discouraging event of no small significance.

Paint small and often seems like good advice. I’ve heard that statement more than once from those who teach. And the same would apply to drawing, an essential skill that provides a foundation for more successful painting. Think about it. A tiny piece of paper, the real estate of a painting, is less precious, and less expensive. The drawing or painting is contained in a sketch-like format. It’s less formal, with a lower barrier to entry, which means that it’s easier to plunge right in. The fear factor is significantly reduced, more iterations can be churned out, and that faster production cycle makes it easier to quickly attain skill, evaluate results, and make progress.

When taking art classes in college, we usually started with a large format in our studio classes, and a 9” x 12” sketchbook, with a homework assignment to complete five sketches a day. The frequency of that assignment helped us progress, but we took shortcuts, tackling portions of subjects as a study. What would have been better? Thumbnails.

I have recently gridded out pages of my cheap sketchbook paper so that I can draw eight thumbnail sketches on a page. Yes, they’re comically tiny, but the fear factor is gone, so it’s easy to work up a form and value study quickly, in fact, several of the same subjects in short order. I hadn’t known what I was missing. It’s a freeing experience to make quick sketches, or little watercolors, in a thumbnail format. And, they tend to be more spontaneous, loose, and exuberant than larger studies. And that means that the process, and the results, are both curious and fun. And fun is a key reason why we do this.

Confidence is a key attribute for the artist in the realm of painting, as it is in rock climbing or the discipline of mixed alpine. Of course, it is an attribute attained through practice and the building of skills in your chosen medium. And anything that removes barriers and makes practice more accessible and frequent will propel one towards mastery and confidence. I have become a believer. These small studies are foundational for both skill-building and exploration of ideas before committing to a larger format. They function as a bridge between a concept and the finished work. I now realize that thumbnails are an essential part of any artist’s toolbox.

 

Granularity

Aside from acknowledging particles of sand on a beach, I had given little thought to granularity. And then, many years ago, I was startled into wakefulness by a programmer at our weekly business planning meeting. It was the first time I heard the question, “How granular do you want it?” I was working for a dot-com at the time, right before the year 2000, and most of my associates were from the tech side, where ‘granular’ was a well-used shorthand descriptor that indicated the relative depth of detail, which in their case, usually meant the description of an approach or solution that involved complex computer language, both for operating systems and applications. His question was serious.

I occupied the marketing side, where we didn’t often deal at a granular level as the concepts that inspired customer desire were often emotional, vaguer, and more ephemeral. That simple word, granular well illustrated the gap between us in our respective backgrounds and ways of thinking. He asked because he knew we’d fall asleep if he took the deep dive. He was right. We only wanted the conceptual highlights. And the assurances that we were moving forward. Unfortunately, it did not matter and was of no consequence as we soon perished as many other dot-coms from that era.

And now, I am immersed in the study and practice of the art of watercolors. And I encounter the word once more. What does it mean for this art? When confronted with ground paint pigments in a watery substrate, granularity matters again. It’s on a much smaller scale now, but important nonetheless. In the context of watercolor, it’s the physics of the heavier pigment grains settling in the rough depressions of the textured watercolor paper due to gravity and the uneven depositing of such sedimentary particles. Yet another piece of the puzzle that contributes to unexpected outcomes that painters experience in this aqueous medium. It can be semi-manageable and madly out of control, often yielding surprising results.

Dry, ground-up pigments are mixed with binders to make the paints that watercolor artists use, either in tube form or in pans. Non-granulating pigments disperse evenly with water, covering the paper smoothly, equally, or nearly so in color and texture. Granulating pigments are often heavier and have a larger particle size which leads them to more easily separate from their binder on wet paper, the granules migrating and depositing into the depressions, the valleys, on the textured surface of the watercolor paper. While granulation can occur on smooth paper, cold press, and rough paper provide the most opportunity to showcase the physics of granulation.

And once dry, the effect is visually magnified with a grainy appearance of the tiny flakes arranged in a way that can be stunningly beautiful. The effect is often sought by landscape painters and others who want to achieve a noticeably textured appearance, which can seem like visual alchemy. Some cany manufacturers have noticed that interest from artists and have created specialty paints that play to this effect. Schmincke sells a specialty range titled ‘Super Granulating.’ Daniel Smith markets their extra granulating paint in a distinct range labeled ’Primatek.’

As I play with my watercolors, exploring wet on wet skies and reflections in water, I find the results of granulation absolutely enchanting. I eagerly anticipate putting pigment to paper, wondering what will be revealed. The process is a voyage of discovery, a new world of even more dramatic visual effects. And now, finally, I can eagerly say, “Yes, let’s get granular! Real granular!” Release the magic, and let the fun begin!

The Casting Game

My wife and I read many books and have our favorites, many of which we’d like to make the journey from the printed page to a cinematic venue. And so, it’s often great fun to speculate about who might be the perfect casting choice for a character in such a book. We often spitball about who we would cast. For example, who would be right for the plucky heroine Irene in The Invisible Library? And what of Banquet of the Infinite’s Diane, who makes her entrance in a chapter titled, ‘Snow, Rock, and Rainbows?’

Vanessa Kirby, who was so expressive as the rebellious Princess Margaret in Season 1 of The Crown, could easily inhabit the role of dashing, brave, and inventive Irene. And Diane from Banquet of the Infinite? The young Australian actress, Angourie Rice who made her debut in 2016 as Holly March in The Nice Guys, with Russell Crowe and Ryan Gosling, comes to mind. Now 21 years old, her acting career is blossoming, and she bears an uncanny resemblance to the young Diane, who hikes and climbs in wild places. The perfect fit? I can’t think of anyone more appropriate.

The story of ‘Snow, Rock, and Rainbows’ is told in my mountain memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.