Debra Keirce

In my former life as a biochemical design engineer, we talked about systems and system boundaries. This was just a fancy way of saying, we needed the context of what we were designing. 

The boundaries were simply the data points where different steps interfaced. For example, you might have a lonely little fluid molecule at 50 degrees F, atmospheric pressure, and less than 30% saturation, cruising along at 1.2 gallons per minute through a four-inch pipe. All that thrilling data informed you as you designed the next phase. You knew exactly what to expect, how massive your equipment needed to be, and what size vents would keep everything from going sideways.

Fast forward to today. When I step back from my easel to look at a painting or drawing in its entirety, I am doing the exact same thing.
Only instead of calculating pipe friction, I’m using my peripheral vision to see what values and color shapes actually catch a viewer's eye. I’m assessing whether the data that crossed over from my reference photo into my artwork resulted in the performance I wanted. Is something overwhelming the system? If a highlight is flooding the canvas, I need to make adjustments to capture the spill. Or, I need to tone it down so the viewer doesn't need sunglasses. Just because my reference photo features a blinding, soul-crushing glare doesn't mean it deserves a starring role in my oil painting. Or, maybe it does and I should surround it with lamp black to get the most intensity.

Another way this engineering analogy applies is how I compare the art to its presentation. I am constantly playing with backgrounds and frames. Sure, a subject might look stunning in baby blue against a fuchsia painted stucco wall in real life, but that doesn't mean it translates well into 2 dimensions. For a variety of  reasons, I would likely lean into a rust-colored background instead. Depending on how much I want to manipulate the viewer's attention, I probably wouldn't even fully render the texture of the wall. These are decisions best made from a zoomed out perspective. Things that are impossible to see when you've got your nose pressed two inches away from a magnifier as you create, become obvious when you step back.

So, what do I mean exactly by "zoomed out?"

Well, it’s more than just standing back and squinting at the canvas (though that’s part of it). When I zoom out, I deploy a few specific diagnostic tools:

Orientation:  I turn the art on its side and upside down. I look at it in a mirror. Our biology is always correcting when we look at things. Sometimes it's surprising how much the brain works to make wrong things look right. Google the "Thatcher Effect" if you want to see how creepy this can be!

Peripheral Blurring:  I focus on something just outside the art and just outside the reference, then compare the impressions. Miraculously, gross errors in shadow shapes and color contrasts leap out at you when you stop staring right at them.

Triangulation: I pick two points in the artwork and draw an imaginary line between them. Then, I pick a third point off to the side, forming a mental triangle, and compare the interior angles against my reference. It is a ruthless, foolproof check on overall draughtsmanship. It’s shockingly easy to convince yourself your drawing is accurate until you triangulate and realize your subject’s ear is apparently trying to escape the buzz cut it is surrounded by.

The Squint Check: First, I squint to ruthlessly crush distracting hue details so I can check my values. Then, I open my eyes wide to color-check, making sure things match between the reference and my creation. That is, unless I've made a conscious, artistic decision to change them (because I'm the boss of the studio). All of this gives me major flashbacks to my engineering days, back when I used to mentally walk through piping and instrumentation diagrams wondering where dust or condensate was going to collect, which valves were going to be impossible to reach, whether everyone could escape in an emergency, or if the room airflow needed adjusting. You get the idea: don't build the whole factory without checking if the roof fits.

Zooming out lets you finally see the forest through the metaphorical trees.

Stay tuned for next month's article, when I zoom completely the other way to obsess over tiny details! If you are enjoying these ramblings, please leave a comment and let me know how they are helping you in your own creative pursuits.