On Renoir et al

I belong to an artists' group of painters who regularly discuss topics of interest in plein air painting and other forms. That's correctly spelled. Plein-air refers to open air painting in which the painter attempts to catch the essence of a landscape in one sitting. Our group's moderator, Carole Huber, posed a question around an upcoming showing of landscapes by Pierre-Auguste Renoir at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Her question had to do with a quote from Renoir, who wrote, "There isn't a single person or landscape or subject which doesn't possess some interest.... When a painter discovers this hidden treasure, other people are immediately struck by its beauty." Carole was discussing the difference between the sublime and the ordinary in a painter's expression on canvas. She asked if any of us had thoughts on this matter.

Oh, good subject! I think what Renoir meant was that a perceptive painter could find the sublime in the ordinary. Photographers have this same problem. A hundred people can take pictures of the same scene or a portrait of one person. Within the hundred photographs you will find that 80% or so are just photographs, nothing special. Of the remaining which appear somehow interesting, perhaps only two or three will stand out. In those, the photographers have seen and captured something unique about the scene or person being photographed. We might conclude these are professional photographers, but then upon investigation we're likely to find in our sample that only one of them makes a living directly from recording pictures; the other one or two are "talented" amateurs showing an unusually high degree of passion. They've gotten good because they've taken thousands of pictures and like the professional, they continue to do so.

In my experience, it is like that for any of the arts. The more you do your thing, the more you understand. The more you paint, the more you perceive. There comes a time when you cross an invisible threshold. Something inside you opens to something new. You suddenly see differently, more perceptively than when you first set out. Masters, like Renoir, have kept their passion and nurtured it, studying introspectively to reason and to understand what it is they see and what it is that defines the beauty in an ordinary scene or person.

In my home town, I can step out the door, walk a block and look down a long street toward Lake Pend d' Oreille (the original French spelling). It's the home of Bookcrossings.com, Coldwater Creek and Litehouse Dressings. I can look down more than a mile and a half to the edge of the lake. Proficiency in any form of art--I'll use painting as the example--requires that I paint my way all the way to the lake, one canvas at a time, end on end. Along the arduous path, so long as I don't quit, I will grow in technique, understanding and perception. I will experience plateaus, yes; valleys, certainly; bumps and disappointments, of course. But I will experience moments of elation and inspiration as well. First, I must, as Picasso said, paint a single line across the white canvas. I must start. If I never risk, I will never achieve. If I don't stumble I will stay on the level of stick drawings and believe forever that's all God gave me for talent. But if I trudge on, if I find some level of interest and passion, the One who created me will give me more. I will grow and if someday I have been sufficiently diligent, I will reach a level some might consider mastery.

~Dwayne K. Parsons