Obviously, I've been tardy, and perhaps even lax, in posting. But what you are about to see is well worth the wait, readers.
Over the last couple of days I've lived in my studio. Not the
actual last two days, which have been so unbelievably warm as to preclude my doing anything other than work the soil, but the two or three preceding. Most of the time was spent cleaning out the sector of largely unexplored basement that constitutes my studio. Several years' worth of storage boxes, furniture, sporting goods, dust and other assorted detritus had piled up, rendering the place nearly impenetrable. In the process I tripped and fell, hit my head, inhaled ungodly amounts of dust, discovered no less than three lost civilizations and grew a respectable, manly stubble.
Once that was all done, I sat down and sucked on the fruit of my labor for four or five minutes, and pretty shortly I decided it was really time to get cracking.
You see, I had cleaned out my studio for one reason. I mean, it's great to have a corner that's relatively private, out of all major traffic lanes, roomy, climate-controlled and sound-resistant. There is a spacious entrance, and a vast array of tools are within arm's reach. It naturally appeals to the inner recluse. But, truth be told, the catalyst for my inspired insanity was the need for total darkness.
For those who have not heard, I'm currently working on a good-sized painting, under the tutelage of a half-dozen or so of the most hard-working and talented artists I've ever known. It's been something of an undertaking, having already taken the better part of two years. Progress goes in fits and starts, not at all helped by my ridiculous schedule. So far I've gone through dozens of thumbnails, several composition shifts and refinements, three color studies and various other bits and pieces, not to mention some lively correspondence. But it has come to the point where I really,
really need to get some paint on the canvas.
First, a brief synopsis of the work at hand. This is the revisitation of a moment I experienced following my first flight in a Piper Tomahawk, registered N2550A. It was windy (12 steady, gusting 16 at 260) and pouring buckets, and after I shut down and covered up I found myself in something of a trance, wanting to remain despite the thorough soaking I was getting at the hands of some badass cumulonimbi. My instructor, a person inspired less by sentiment than common sense, ran lickety-split for the relative dryness of the terminal. I lingered, having, for lack of better terminology, a romantic moment with the aeroplane.
A color study. Romantique, no?
Aviation art is a funny thing. Most of the people who have a real appreciation for it have a fair amount of technical knowledge. Accuracy is crucial; even a slight error in proportion or misplaced detail will often be noticed by the discerning eye of the knowledgeable viewer, and can ruin an otherwise well-executed painting. This is a special challenge because, on top of the need to get the airplane right, the terminal building at SFZ is something of a landmark, and it's a self-portrait to boot. As far as putting the lines where they belong, there are a number of methods; I use GPM.
The Geometric Projection Method was pioneered by Joe DeMarco, and is manifested in his program, Artist's Perspective Modeler (APM). I was lucky enough to obtain a copy of it, and have put it to good use (and also made good use of the one-on-one tech support enthusiastically provided by Joe). It works like a virtual camera, where you define coordinates in a virtual 3-dimensional space and then set various parameters so that the program can plot the points in proper perspective on a 2-dimensional surface. Basic operation of the program is as follows:
1. Obtain a scale 3-view of the object in question. 1/48 (1/4 in.=1 ft.) scale is standard, partly because 1/48 plans are relatively easy to find and are large enough to include sufficient detail, and partly because the large amount of relevant math is easier this way. Finding accurate 3-views of light GA aircraft is a notoriously difficult practice, and I was delighted when Ron Wong (who must literally have rooms full of reference) was able to procure for me not just one but two. I chose the larger of the two as it included more detail, and worked for some time to get it printed at exact scale. When all this was done I busted out the calipers and made about 100 micromeasurements, finding the exact distances (down to 1/128 in) to important stations, such as major changes in cross-section, surface edges and axes. Below are the front and side elevations; there is also a plan view.
2. Enter the coordinates. Below is an example of a few "boxes." In essence, you are creating a series of lines to define a virtual space. It's a massive 3D game of connect-the-dots. The coords, when formatted correctly, are linked sequentially by lines. The measurements below are in hundredths of an inch, in 1/48 scale. The model as it currently stands comprises some 225 lines of coordinates. It's actually pretty simple as models go; some of the more zealous among us get so into it as to actually replicate the curves and surfaces of the subject, with amazing results. I prefer to use it simply as a framework to build a drawing on, doing most of the work with a pencil.
3. Place the subject. Once the numbers are all in place, it's time for a whole new set of numbers. Things that need to be determined are where the center of interest (the convergence of all the offset axes) is, and from there exactly where the CI is in relation to the viewpoint so that everything fits neatly where it should in order to make an exciting composition. The easiest way to do this in this case, where the airplane is sitting straight and level on the ground, was to make a plan view. In the 1/150 scale drawing you see below, I was able to determine that the CI sat 6 feet (1.5625 inches when converted to 1/48) behind the zero-point and 12 feet (3 in) to port. The whole airplane was then rotated about the z- (vertical) axis 10 degrees. I then settled on a 32-degree cone of vision, which put the viewing distance to the CI at about 75 feet (19 in).
I made several small adjustments, moving the CI up and inboard a couple of feet, and pushed the "calculate" button, which plots all the lines as offset. The rewards of all that math:
And now we come to the total darkness issue. I had a fine framework, but to transfer a tiny drawing to a 4-foot canvas is no small task, and so I fired up the projector, which is something of a light-sensitive operation. Given the luminous quality of every room in the house, the basement was the natural and only choice. And of course it has the advantages of coolness, privacy, etc.
The rest is pretty much self-evident. I'm doing all the dirty work on a half-size finished plot, so I can just lay down positive lines on the actual canvas. I did a whole lot of adjusting to get the CI/CV (the red crosshairs) centered on the paper, and the size and focus exactly where it should be, and penciled away. The apparent distortion below is due to the camera's proximity to the drawing.
And the end result, here seen again on the oblique, is a 50% perspective plot, to be inked, scanned and projected onto the canvas.
Stay tuned as the deadline is fast approaching and updates will come much more frequently now.
Some big hops forward have been made, though it doesn't show readily: The sky has been put back in check, the treeline's done, we're closer to the right shade for the side of the hangar, I've started to recover the airplane from the gigantic mess I made, and various other bits have been nudged in the right direction. Some things are obviously in need of fixing, i.e. the warped steel roofing and the split-level roadway on either side of the vert-stab, and we'll just see how many more of them pop up during the rest of the process. But that's what paint is for, after all- to cover up all the mistakes you made with the last layer of paint! The grayscale version below shows the values holding up okay so far.
So I mixed out the blues a bit and it looked much better but, still lacking proper lighting conditions, it looks as though it may still be a little bit too deep. The plan is, as it stands, to take another look at it tomorrow and, should it actually need the amount of revision I think it does, to turn tail and hide myself behind a wall of art books.
Well, it's pretty self-explanatory, but for the sake of having a well-rounded entry, complete with narration: I've got almost the whole canvas covered now, and the very beginnings of wet-tarmac reflections are showing themselves. Some of the windows are framed, though they need to be brought into order; they're way out of control. After all the background is corrected I'll get to work blocking in the figures and 50A, and finish off the reflections. Again, excuse the poor off-angle shot-- Wet Paint.
