Watercolor is an artistic impression that has roots back to the cave paintings of primitive man. Applying the pigments found in nature by rocks and natural vegetation, colors were spread with fingers, sticks and bones. Ancient Aboriginal people as well as Native Americans and Ancient Egyptians used water-based colors for decoration of structures, and later applied these paints to early paper, known as papyrus. In Asia, Chinese and Japanese employed silk along with handmade papers, focusing primarily on calligraphy and landscaping as they painted with this medium. At the same time, in ancient Persia, modern-day Iran, and India, religious Muslim artists painted with water-based color, focusing on the depiction of religious scenes taken from the art of the Byzantine era.
Various papers were developed over time, which influenced the development of watercolor as an art medium. The East made paper, historically, since the earliest centuries, and in Europe, papermills were established as early as the late 13th century. Western watercolor, however, was slow to evolve due to the high cost and luxury associated with paper. In Great Britain, watercolor came into its own in the late 1700s, as quality paper became available. As for colors, by this time, artists could easily find the water-soluble color tablets invented in 1780 by William Reeves, and the great marriage was forged: readily available colors and quality paper on which to create a unique form of art.
Traditionally, the impression conveyed by watercolor painting is a gentle one, almost as if the painter has barely touched the paper. Known in French as aquarelle, the beauty of the medium is born of the way in which it seems to convey a fleeting expression. Transparency is key, and as the layers are put down, wet over dry, light is reflected from the surface of the paper through the various levels of color-washes. The glow that comes from beneath is intentional, and so the hand must be light, almost unintentional. The visual is intended to be ethereal, veil-like, if it is executed correctly. While the technique of gouache, or body color is a deviation of the traditional, where pigments are combined with zinc white, creating an opaque layer upon the paper, the painting is still done with a supremely gentle intent. The colors may be vivid, or pastel-like, but the conveyance, whether traditional or gouache, is akin to dew upon a web.
When I first began studying watercolor painting at Parsons in New York City, amidst a grander plan and ultimate certificate in the History of Décor, I dabbled in the medium for a semester or two. Essentially a self-taught artist, with the exception of a teacher during my middle school years who helped me hone my charcoal sketching and awareness of animal skeletons (“one cannot accurately draw or paint an animal without full knowledge of what underlying structures the skin, and fur, drape”), I basically took whatever I had learned in art classes and I practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more. Watercolor is a very unforgiving medium. Too heavy-handed and you’ve ruined the veil; it is a matter of pigment and a great deal of water –copious amounts for washes and backgrounds– and a broad brush, or delicate application of both water and color and a hair-fine brush for fine details. The goal is to create a sense of overlapping layers, ones that are see-through and seem able to be lifted like petals off the page.
My reference for art was born early; I had spent countless hours amidst color and form, media of all types, in my treks with my parents through ubiquitous art shows, galleries, museums, outdoor fairs –if it was art, they found their way, and mine, for a visit. I recall my mother saying that in my earliest years I had fussed when they tried to introduce me to Rembrandt and his ilk, claiming they were “too sad.” A stroll through the halls of Van Gogh, and better yet Manet, Monet and O’Keefe brought smiles of delight from me, barely four in my earliest viewings. According to my mother, when I could explain my impressions, the words were simple: I needed color, and the more vivid, the finer and more delicate the lines, the better. Heavy lines, or bulky design, darkness of any kind, they were all out. They were depressing. The identifiable lines and brilliant colors of the Impressionists and contemporary artists with recognizable work (I despised entirely abstract pieces, or worse yet the paintings of the surrealists such as Dalí as well as installations that seemed like anything except art), brought me joy. Chagall’s colorful and brilliant glass windows were candy to my eyes. When I discovered years later, the glass sculptures of Dale Chihuly, I could not imagine any creation that was more organically beautiful. The presence of watercolor, a medium that so naturally presented the light and crisp impressions that so appealed to me from the earliest age, was a perfect choice for my developing artistic expression.
And so, it was only natural, that years later, when given the opportunity to dabble in color, I first chose watercolor. The effect was so beautiful to me, so calming, I began to choose this medium more and more, especially on journeys to the beach, where under my umbrella I sought something to fill the hours by the shore. It was easy to pack an art case consisting of the simplest supplies –a watercolor pad, some tubes of good quality pigments in a multitude of colors, a fine, a medium, and a thick brush, and a small plastic container for fresh water. That was all I needed.
Eventually, I added to the mix a bottle of neon-bright orange masking liquid to “save” the white, negative space (where the eye can “rest,” keeping the medium from the overstimulation that is undesirable in this medium), which I came to learn is admired in watercolor work. I also took along a spray bottle to work more wet-on-wet, where the colors bleed into each other in a circuitous and intricate way. Later on, I discovered watercolor pencils for fine details, as well as quality watercolor markers for outlining, which gave finished work a particularly graphic, stylized quality.
After a time, my days spent simultaneously enjoying the vernal equinox and my paints led to a sense that the two were intertwined…hazy, and sun- filled summer days seaside, sultry and balmy evenings on my balcony at home, with my brushes, tints, palette, and paper in hand.
Through the long year between summers when humid days are but a fond vestige of a cherished season, I began to search out my colors, my coveted hot-press paper (more absorbent and better able to capture the lovely and intricate textures of watercolor than cold-press paper, which is smoother, less absorbent, and thinner) and my brushes. Later, I added metallic paints to my arsenal of color, and my relationship with this unique and marvelous medium grew.
And then, several years into my affair with watercolor painting, it occurred to me that a summer setting devoted to time spent with little else but my paints and brush might be magical. With the impulse to experience the exotic with my paint box in hand, I headed to the Amalfi coast of Italy. And my impulse was spot-on; the coastline of this glorious country could not be more idealic, or more fabulously suited for days and evenings spent painting local scenery. With a house nestled amongst olive and lemon groves, and a front bougainvillea-draped terrazza hanging over the cliffs of the Italian coastline, I easily found stimulationfor creativity. Sun-drenched mornings on the balcony began with espresso and croissants and lemon curd I made from the plethora of lemons in the yard, and I began my painting; afternoon, often still too hot to journey down the 104 stone steps from the top of the mountain (and worse, back up again!), I painted some more. Late afternoons into evenings were often filled with adventures in the charming and unique land that I called home that summer. Amidst the natural charm and unimaginable beauty of this magnificent Mediterranean land, the days passed quickly, and my collection of work grew daily.
Back in my routine post-Amalfi, and through the years that have followed, I continue to work in my free hours in what has come to be my “go-to friend:” watercolor painting; My art has filled times of both relaxation and happiness, as well as days less so, times of sadness and despair. Interestingly, I have found that in moments of melancholy my artistic expression is enhanced, somehow as if mournfulness is a source of inspiration and creation for me. Watercolor painting is always there for me, and has very nearly become personified to me. Having discovered it, I realize that it is my gift and an ultimate delight.
The Rabbi Arthur Schneier Park East Day School is a prestigious NYC Jewish Day School in the heart of New York City. Located in the Upper East Side, this Jewish Day School promotes academic growth through community and collaboration.