My lino print and painting artist's space

Making Landscape Art

Updated: Mar 2018

We're not cameras, we don't experience landscape like a lens, from a fixed position.

First I describe how I approach making landscape art (Below).
Then I explain a little bit about painting landscapes specifically.

Paintings and linocuts of real places

I'm not a landscape artist (painter, printmaker) who strives to reproduce exactly what is in front of me, applying hardly any, or no, ‘artist's licence’ to the art I make.

I don't set out to prompt people to say wow, I thought for a minute this painting was a photograph!. It's not that photorealist art can't be good art, it simply isn't the kind of artist I want to be.

I'm not trying to paint an imaginary landscape, either. I do something that's in between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary’. I want to keep this simple and not get into a thesis on what ‘real’experience is made of.

Essentially, we're not cameras, we don't stand in one place and stare unwaveringly in one direction before moving on to the next position. So standing where a photographer would stand and painting the view in front of you does not really capture what it's like to be in a place, to me.

Artist's licence

I wear-out my ‘artist's licence’* by moving trees, buildings, hills(!) and whatnot, to where I want them to be. I'll even include things in pictures sometimes that would need a special wide-angle camera lens, able to see round corners in reality. When studying the scene itself, I stand in several places making sketches, rather than just one. What I'm doing is ‘designing’ the art to look the way I want it to, rather than to be an exact copy of what's there. This is artist's license (not to be confused with the 'happy accident' which is something entirely different). The fancy word for how things in a painting or linocut are arranged – designed – is ‘composition’† and I enjoy being creative with composition. I get a buzz from it and often spend a lot of time on this stage of my art.

Instantly familiar landscapes

Though I remodel a landscape – bend things, move things, enlarge and shrink things – I don't want it to look really strange. In fact I want my paintings, but also my linocuts, to be instantly recognisable. I know this sounds contrary, but I want my art to look like the place, despite all my medling. I hope people who see my landscapes will say: “oh I know exactly where that is and it is that lovely there”. There's a fine line I'm trying to tread between ‘keeping it real’ and being ‘creative with the truth’.

A subtle fine art

Moving things around sounds anything but subtle. Yet to get it right, it is a ‘fine art’. Equally important, is evoking a distinctive light, time of day or type of weather and this is something I'm currently learning a great deal about, as well as experimenting with. Mastering this delicately complex and understated part of making art, called ‘atmosphere’ is another current preoccupation. It is another aspect of a painting or print where artist's licence can make a big difference to the result. One of my latest linoprints, ‘Flying South’, is an example of how I've used a subtle almost monochromatic colour scheme to create an atmospheric original print.

Unique oil paintings and original prints

Or – why my art is different

A mix of realism and creativity-with-the-truth is why my paintings and linocuts are so unique to me. Most artists stick with one or the other. They keep their artwork what they call 'true' to the scene in front of them, applying minimal or no artist's license, otherwise they go completely abstract, using the landscape as a starting point only.

I'm in between and there aren't a lot of artists attempting to do two opposite things at once like me ‐ creating something true to a specific place, yet imaginatively altered(!) without it being strange. Perhaps other artists are the sensible ones because it's a challenge! The challenge of it, is exactly why I'm fascinated by trying to do it and am delighted when I feel I have.

When all said and done, I'm just trying to reflect how beautiful the UK landscape, coast and sea around it is – what a delight it is – and I hope the results delight you too.

* A whole heap of writing about artistic licence - [ Accessed June 2016 ]† The art world uses the fancy word ‘composition’ instead of design. They are actually exactly the same thing. Here's a complicated explanation of what composition is: [ Accessed June 2016 ]

Painting landscapes  ↓

Some of my linocuts/paintings

Painting Landscapes

Landscape painting is not the oldest kind of painting. Cave paintings show animals and humans, not the terrain. There's not really anything that indicates whether the animals and humans were in marshes, open savannah, mountains, valleys, forest or even just in tall grass.

Even the Greeks didn't really 'do' landscapes, instead showing collections of individual plants such as reeds. Religious narrative paintings, always showing people at a notable point in their story, dominated much formal painting for centuries. Yes, landscapes featured, but only ever as a 'background'. Paintings simply weren't 'about' the scenery. Even the word 'landscape' meaning 'a painting of a landscape' didn't get invented in modern English until as late as the 17th century (*according to the great Wikipedia).

Painting scenery is hard to do

As complicated as people and animals are to show in art, they tend to be a bit more logical than landscape. There is a recognisable structure to human bodies which once a way of painting them is mastered, it can be repeated to tell endless stories. (I used to do this as a child, drawing stick figures adventuring through newsprint.) Everyone will recognise a stick figure as being 'human'. Landscapes on the otherhand are an entirely different prospect. This is my own daft theory as to one reason why the countryside didn't get painted early on - it was harder! All those thousands of leaves on each tree is a bit daunting for a painter, best to stick with simpler 'knee bone connected to the thigh bone' paintings. Well anyway… moving on.

Landscapes do not have a skeleton. An artist has to make up a structure with a landscape painting. I'm talking about composition and it is the key to good landscape painting in my humble opinion, followed close behind by light. Both apply to pretty much all art including still life paintings, portraits and pet paintings, but in my view it's the difference between a good landscape painting and a fail. Impose a great composition onto complex scenery and the rest will fall into place. Get it wrong and no matter how beautifully oil paint is laid on the canvas, the painting will lack something.

Composition is the art worlds fancy word for the design of a picture. Landscape needs simplifying, it needs a sense of hierarchy imposing   so that it becomes clear what the painting is excited about (the focal point). This is why landscape painting can be quite a battle, as the artist tries to stop all the parts competing for attention. A fabulous tree or set of trees might not be what made the artist stop in their tracks, yet their richness and complexity can soon dominate the canvas. The painter has to decide how to paint the trees in such a way that they're beleivable trees, but they play nice as supporting characters and not the star.

Once the composition is mapped onto the canvas, often as simple blocks of tone and perhaps colour depending on the artists approach, painting can begin in earnest. This is when light comes to the fore. Everything from then on about painting landscape is about the light. Achieving texture, atmosphere, a sense of a moment in time is all to do with using paint to record the lighting. I'm studying this rather avidly at the moment using books on the subject, looking at other artists artwork, and by observing the real thing - outdoors, en plein air... as outdoor painting is called. It's one of my missions for 2018   that is: become an expert in painting light! This way, I hope to improve as a landscape oil painter.

* “The word 'landscape' entered the modern English language as landskip (variously spelt), an anglicization of the Dutch landschap, around the start of the 17th century, purely as a term for works of art, with its first use as a word for a painting in 1598.” - [ Accessed January 2018 ]