Long haul flights and the big opening


I keep forgetting how long it takes to get from Barcelona to Sydney. 7 hours + 14 hours = too much movie watching. Especially when you don't sleep.

Note to self for next time - DO NOT order any special meals, especially gluten free. I am with Air Qatar this time (who are great to fly with) but it seems that two thirds of my meal is grain based - muffins, breads, and cakes made from maize or rice flour instead wheat. What is this about? There are plenty of naturally gluten free foods without having to try to mimic them with various substitutes. 

I am still waiting to discover the magic formula to be fed something resembling healthy airplane food - like salad and fruit.

To accompany my special 'gluten free' meal the flight attendant offers me a (gluten-filled) croissant. I say yes for amusement, and because I know my partner will wolf it down simply out of boredom.


We arrive in grey Sydney on is the coldest day of the year (so far) and of course I have packed for summer. Luckily the sun does appear in a lukewarm state in following days. The week there is a whirlwind - firstly re-stretching my canvases (which were rolled for transport) at the workshop of the National Art School (a big thanks to curator Chelsea Lehmann for facilitating this). 

The opening night is big and exuberant. I am thrilled to have old friends arrive, even coming from interstate especially for the event. There is a little artists' talk just before the official opening where we each speak for a few minutes. And then the party begins.


And a few days later the exhibition receives some lovely press in the The Sydney Morning Herald.



And now, back in France, I am mentally processing events. And ready to get back into the studio to continue with the next works in this new series.

I actually resisted making these two paintings for a long time because I was scared that 'no one' would 'get' them. Whenever I had posted my shop windows photos to my Instagram feed they received the fewest 'likes'. It was though I was in my own little bubble world that no one else understood. But I decided to do make them anyway because they made sense to me. As a result I was shocked by the enthusiastic response they received when they were shown.

I am now thinking bigger - a lot bigger - at least for the next two  works. But more on that later.

Showing new work in Sydney, May 2018


'Bad Mannerism' (group show) at Galerie Pompom, Sydney, opening May 2, 2018

I'm quietly excited about my new series of paintings, which will have the 'big reveal' in Sydney on May 2.  

I get bored easily and hate getting into a rut. Every few years I clean the slate, and launch into something entirely different. This is one of those moments. 

I'm keeping the images close to my chest for now (just a sneak preview here for you special blog visitors) as it's all happening in the studio at this very moment and I don't want to wreck the surprise.  

I love art history, actually any history, because I get such a buzz out of uncovering  patterns and parallels.

We think we are so advanced today with our high-techness, our global connectedness and the invention of artificial intelligence, but as they say in French, plus ça change, plus c'est la meme chose ('The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.') It hardly needs to be said that human nature, with its, desires, ambitions and fears doesn't change at all.

'Bad Mannerism' references the sixteenth century Mannerist movement, showing contemporary artists working with similar ideas today.

To jog your the art history juices (mixed metaphors I know) - Mannerism came after the Renaissance and before the Baroque, and was a reaction against the supposed  'naturalism' attained in high Renaissance art. The so-called Mannerists (never a formal group) were bored with rules and correctness and wanted to be stand out, rebel, and create something new and unexpected at the expense of 'natural' beauty. They wanted to do whatever they pleased with their subjects (mainly the human figure); to show that the classical solution of perfect harmony is not the only conceivable solution . 

 The whole thing was meant just for the elites (the ones with money to pay for it), and considered an intellectual game for the in-crowd.

The audience were the members of the aristocratic courts; people like the Medici and their entourage who wanted to be seen as smart and sophisticated.

Mannerist art showed off by deliberately doing things 'wrongly'.

This took different forms in art, but, for example, they would depict figures with stretched or strange proportions and, in contrast, render them with breathtaking technique (a bit like like John Currin). Only the upper class got the joke.

Figures in Mannerist paintings are posed (and 'mannered') rather than looking naturalistic, and reflect the idea that in court, artificiality was actually the goal. Your identity was supposed to be performed, and you deliberately presented yourself to be seen in a certain way (which was supposed to appear effortless.)

'Ordinary' real life was seen as crass, and showing the real you considered terribly gauche.

Masks were the way to go (actual and metaphorical); the aim being to produce a polished and performed life. 

Different versions of Mannerism appeared in various parts of Europe. Artists in the south included Parmigianino with his elegant elongations (a bit like today's magazine models who have been digitally stretched beyond belief), Bronzino and Pontormo. In the north there was Goltzius and Uytewael. El Greco is also loosely placed with the group.

 Parmigianino, Madonna with the long neck (1534-40)

Parmigianino, Madonna with the long neck (1534-40)

There is disagreement on how Mannerism was named. One theory says it was initially an insult, implying something over-elaborate, fake and contrived (i.e. mannered). Another theory says it was a more positive term and came from the French word manière, referring to the courtly literature of manners.

Part of the Mannerist art 'game' was making paintings based on other paintings, but removing most of the key traditional elements - being 'super cool' by removing the important bits. 

In Pontormo's depiction of the Entombment of Christ he removes the whole backdrop (anything that could look like dirt or a tomb) and just keeps the floating figures. So what's left is a shell of a quotation, with the original intention and symbols abandoned. 


 Pontormo,'The Entombment of Christ' 1528

Pontormo,'The Entombment of Christ' 1528

The idea was that the higher spiritual and intellectual realms were prioritised over the lower physical realm.

Maybe this all sounds very contemporary...

Well, the curator of 'Bad Mannerism', Chelsea Lehmann, picked up on exactly this, and voila, we have an exhibition.

PS If you would like images sent to you prior to the show or an invitation to the opening please send a message via the contact page.


Have you been to Béziers?


Have you ever visited Béziers? 

Actually I am ashamed to admit that I have never set foot in the town of Béziers, where I am about to exhibit my work, even though it is only a forty minute drive from Montpellier. It is on the road to Barcelona so we pass by constantly. The closest I have got is the VW agency on the outskirts of town. Nothing to be proud of. I planned to get there before the show, but have been so busy with Cologne and then preparing for this event that I haven't had time.


To familiarise myself, at the last minute, I have sadly resorted to Wikipedia and downloaded some postcard shots. Not ideal.


Yesterday afternoon a nice man in a van came and collected my paintings as well as my specially painted furniture to deliver them to Béziers. I am one of twenty one artists from all over France invited to participate in the outdoor contemporary art festival 'L'Art en Boîte' (which can be translated as tinned or canned art, as in food).

Every artist has been given a shipping container in which to create an installation of their work.  

There will be live performers and street artists and it's happening right in the centre of town over the long weekend of June 2 - 5. We have also each been paired with a local business who is our sponsor/patron for the event. It's pretty much a dream gig as everything is financed, including four night's accommodation, a celebratory dinner, cocktail party, and the fitting out of the containers (mine will be lined with white painted plywood walls and have a black and white check lino floor)

In preparation I've been painting furniture.

Yes furniture - to accompany my paintings. I decided to create a kind of retro living room feel in my container so collected some 1950's furniture (ie from friends and off the street) and have painted it in brightish colours (like my recent paintings) and with a nod to the 1980's Memphis design group from Italy. Memphis has not exactly been the 'flavour of the month' for quite a while but I feel a comeback is in the air, and in any case it works with my paintings. So I am being bold and going for it. People will love it or hate it.


It's actually a lot harder than it looks to get the different colours to work together, combining several contrasting hues in each piece.

Black and white are the staples, and these anchor the brights. However too many brights and it looks 'kindergarten' so there's been a lot of experimental colour mixing and repainting. In fact most of the so called bright colours I've used are slightly turbo charged pastels, with the black and white adding the dynamics.

This is starting to sound a bit esoteric, and it did feel a bit like an Albers colour theory exercise back at art school.

Actually we never did study Josef Albers at art school but I wish we did. I now have an iPad app where you can do his colour exercises on the screen instead of by cutting up expensive sheets of coloured paper. Probably it's 'cheating' and he would have been horrified, but anyway it works.

 Josef Albers  'Homage to the Square' 1965

Josef Albers  'Homage to the Square' 1965

Sorry for the side track. But it was a totally fascinating process, and makes me realise how much I do use colour as a  means of expression in my paintings. And it makes me want to experiment further, maybe even with some wholly abstract paintings (shock horror). We will see...

So, back to Béziers - actually I won't be able to attend for most of the weekend as I have family visiting from Australia, which was organised well before the art event and we had already made plans. In fact I initially turned down the invitation to participate for this reason, but the lovely organiser insisted I take part, even if I couldn't be there in person. So by being absent I will be forfeiting four days of eating, drinking and partying (just joking). Actually it is hard, intense work presenting your art to the public and answering all sorts of unusual questions, but also very rewarding. I do hope to be there on the final day though, so that is better than nothing.

 Ha - some luck! I have found a Wikipedia picture of the actual place where the containers will be installed. We have a very similar place in the centre of Montpellier.

Ha - some luck! I have found a Wikipedia picture of the actual place where the containers will be installed. We have a very similar place in the centre of Montpellier.

I imagine that most of you will not be anywhere near Béziers or the south of France, so will do my best to document the event and post pictures. 

Béziers seems to be slightly looked down upon by people in Montpellier.

Sibling rivalry? Montpellier is bigger, but Béziers has a far richer and often tragic history. The one time we did go there, to buy our car, the driver picking us up from the train station told us about the Cathar rebellion in the middle ages, and how thousands of innocents were massacred and others burned alive in a nearby village. Béziers currently has a 'far-right' mayor, and I have heard it described as slightly creepy, (not sure if this is why, and anyway how can it be creepy?) so I am actually impatient to go and see. The town itself was established by the Greeks in around 575 BC, followed by the Romans, so it will be fascinating. That's if I get to see anything much outside of my container.

I will aim to do some posts on social media, but for the complete story stay tuned to this blog. (Meaning please subscribe at the top of this page if you haven't already.)

Take care, and talk soon.


Should artists represent themselves at fairs?


 They say you should take some risks in life, or so the platitude goes.

Actually life is one long list of risks, whether you like it or not,  so it is more a matter of choosing. Instead of risking getting hit by a bus, or bitten by a spider I prefer to show at the Kölner-Liste art fair (in Cologne). This is my little experiment. (Not that the bus or spider are now suddenly excluded from the possible agenda.)

I have never before represented myself at a fair and always had galleries showing my work at these events.

Actually, almost all fine art fairs deliberately exclude artists. (That could be a whole discussion!) Kölner-Liste is an exception, where galleries and artists show side by side. The idea is to provide an alternative to the blue-chip 'Art Cologne'. 

Collectors are craving surprise and longing to discover new work, something that happens less at top-end fairs where costs are high and galleries play safe, relying on big name artists to cover the rent. Satellite fairs are trying to fill this gap.

When my artist friend invites me to share a stand with her in Cologne, I decide to take a risk and try something different. I have never before exhibited in Germany, so it is a chance to share my work with a new audience. The major risk for me is that not enough of the right collectors will attend.

 Setting up still... A bit messy but you get the idea. 

Setting up still... A bit messy but you get the idea. 


So how does it work out?

Luckily, it works out very well, but more due to serendipity than anything else. Fine art collectors are somewhat thin on the ground. The fair is a mix of decorator, urban and fine art. Happily, the right people come my way and I am delighted with the results. The largest painting is snapped up by a collector group in Aachen.


 As an added bonus my work gets some nice media coverage. Fair exhibitors have been given the option of paying extra for a 'media package', meaning their stand will be included on the media tour and given priority for PR exposure. I don't pay, but in any case am included on the press tour, get interviewed, and included in two articles (in German, of course, but I haven't yet translated them.)



Will I show at the same fair next year?

Hmmmmm, I'm still thinking.... Probably not.

The most common remark I receive from other artists and galleries is that I am at the wrong fair and should be exhibiting at Art Cologne. (I wish! So this is my goal for next year - ie to connect with one of the participating galleries.) Doing Kölner-Liste has been a valuable stepping stone; a learning curve, getting to see the art world from a gallery's point of view, and seeing people's unfiltered reactions to the work. I am happy to see smiles as people look at my paintings.

Normally I am slightly shy and a bit nervous about speaking with strangers, but funnily enough I meet so many lovely people from all corners of Europe I forget my fearful inhibitions.

 The female artists on my alley - we formed a sort of club. 

The female artists on my alley - we formed a sort of club. 

 It is now over a week after the fair and I am still a bit weary, mostly mentally as I continue to process it all.

I don't have any clear conclusions, apart from the fact that variety is a good thing. It is good to have many different ways for art lovers to experience art, and for artists and galleries to present it. It is not one size fits all. As someone who has worked almost exclusively with galleries, I think that every artist could benefit from showing their work at a fair, even just once.  I know that not all collectors want to meet the artist, but many do.

It is a nice option to be able to close the loop. 


P.S. If you would like to read more articles like this, why not sign up to get new blog posts direct to your inbox? There is a box to fill in at the top of this page.


Why do artists keep doing 'the same thing'?

 This week in the studio - new works to be exhibited at  Kölner-Liste Art Fair , April 27-30, 2017.

This week in the studio - new works to be exhibited at Kölner-Liste Art Fair, April 27-30, 2017.

To my surprise I am once again painting the 'flower eater'.

I made the first version in 2009, and since then have made at least one new one each year. It is now almost a tradition. 

I start thinking about other artists who stay with particular motifs and realise it's a common practice - most artists have 'pet' themes. It's just that some are more extreme in pursuing them than others.

The Italian painter Giorgio Morandi (1890 - 1964) surrounded himself with the same collection of little boxes and bottles every day for forty years or so. Monet is known for his repeated haystacks and the Rouen cathedral; there are Georgia O'Keeffe's flowers, Frida Kahlo's symbolic self portraits, and Philip Guston's lightbulbs and smoking cigarettes. One well known French artist in our region, Claude Viallat, has been painting his repeated, stencilled lozenge shapes since the 1970's.

 Georgia O'Keeffe

Georgia O'Keeffe

 So why do we do it?

Is it just because when you're on a good thing, you stick to it?  Not really.

I realise that everyone has their highly personal reasons and there's not one stock answer. The reasons seem to be tied to each artist's life theme. I like to think about 'life themes' - we each have one but often don't think about it or consciously recognise it. You too have a story and unique blend of life experiences that have made you who you are today.

Morandi's story is that he was conscripted to the army as a young man during World War One but had a breakdown so was sent home. He was a quiet introvert and craved peace, privacy and tranquility (probably as a reaction to his war  time trauma). His genre was 'still life', but not like anyone before him.

His work was a kind of meditation or mantra, so the viewer too would feel a sense of peace.

He de-personalized his objects by removing their labels, and painted them using flat matte colour, with few reflections or distracting details.

 Giorgio Morandi

Giorgio Morandi

 Giorgio Morandi

Giorgio Morandi

Monet, on the other hand, was captivated by light and reflections, changing perceptions and nuances.

Perhaps his 'life theme' was transience - the fact that nothing stays the same, everything is in a state of flux, and it is important to capture the moment; carpe diem. After moving to Giverny in 1883, of his paintings were made within three kilometres of his home.

 Claude Monet

Claude Monet

 Claude Monet

Claude Monet

Claude Viallat discovered his lozenge motif by accident.

A large sponge he had been using to paint with started falling apart when soaked in bleach. He took the biggest piece, which happened to be a lozenge shape, and went with it - the mistake became his theme. Viallat says he likes not having to think about what to paint each day. His art is about formalism - shape, colour, texture and materials, so using a predetermined motif reduces the variables and decisions needing to be made.

 Claude Viallat

Claude Viallat

 Claude Viallat

Claude Viallat

As artists, we need to create constraints for oursleves, otherwise we could never decide what to do next.

When the entire world of colour, shapes, ideas and motifs is your oyster, it is like a child at an enormous international buffet - it is easy to get stuffed and make yourself sick. So we set ourselves limits, make some rules. Yes, the rules can be changed, but there needs to be a reason.

So, getting back to my own work and the 'flower eater' theme, what are my motivations? This is a much harder question. It is easier to figure out everyone else than look at your own reasons.


One of my life themes is that I am constantly looking deeper.

I have a driving need to get below the surface, search for hidden truths, uncover secrets. As a child I felt excluded, invisible, deprived of information. My questions were not answered, I was just told to trust those in charge, fed 'spin' and expected to swallow the official line. As a result I became an intense observer, attuned to tiny nuances and details, placing bits of the puzzle together. I stopped asking questions and simply watched for clues. Everything could be learned by watching and listening closely. 

Well, I am still looking deeper. How does this translate to the paintings?

I try to make pictures that are mysterious and ambiguous because we are all mysterious and multifacteted. There is always more to see if you look more carefully. I discover more about the flower eater each time I paint her.  I love the languages of symbolism and metaphor. My flower eater is a contemporary Vanitas painting, mixing the languages of fashion photography with old master paintings. She wants to tell you some secrets.

PS Find the latest studio peeks on Instagram at aerfeldt_art

PPS I have been singled out for a special mention as one of the artists to see at Kölner-Liste Art Fair next week.


Forced escape from the studio


When I am in studio mode, I'm in the 'zone', not in the mood to be interrupted.

I am sure you know the feeling - glaring at your partner with those 'don't disturb me' dragon eyes, breathing smoke, feeling like you inhabit your own private planet. Deadlines are approaching and the effort and intensity dials are turned up to maximum.

That was me last Friday. I had to be taken away kicking and screaming for some forced recreation.  

I am bundled into the car and we head off for a day and a half of sea air, driving the corniche around the Med, on the border of where France meets Spain.



Sounds idyllic? Yes, and no. The photos don't tell the story of my growing car sickness as I am whisked around curves to compete with Monte Carlo. It's OK if you are driving, getting into the groove, feeling like an F1 champion. It's not great if you are a passenger just trying to take a few snaps along the way.

No stopping at the rock terraced Banyuls vineyards this time, although we do wander along the shores at Cerbère and Port Bou.


Despite the nausea, I am forced to admit it was lovely, and yes, we should do it more. 

So the countdown to Cologne continues...

Two weeks and a bit. Only a few days of painting because works have to dry and be packed. And there's so much more to do.

And here's a peek at this week's progress - another tiny (40cm) tondo. 




I've still got a few tickets to the private opening if you would like to attend, so please send me a message. And if you're not going to be in Cologne, you are still invited to receive up to the minute updates straight to your inbox. Simply add your email address to the box at the top of this page.

PS: My German is not progressing! 

I have missed several days, but am determined to do better this week. Duolingo on my iPad was not in the mood to understand what I was saying to it (in English!) and I ended up shouting at my screen.  There has just been an update to fix some bugs, so I am hoping that this is one of them.

How's your (Art Fair) German?


Did you learn German at school? Or maybe it was French, Italian, Spanish...?

Now that I live in Europe, I wish I had paid more attention in class and daydreamed less. I learned German in high school for three years (in theory) but really only concentrated for one year. The rest I totally wasted, as you do when you are fourteen and the teacher is not really a proper German teacher and she has been dumped with a year 9 German class to fill out the rest of her timetable.

I now find myself badly needing that German I neglected way back...

I am preparing to go to Cologne, Germany, in late April to present my work at the Kölner-Liste Art Fair but hardly speak a word of the language.

Panic stations. I have been told not to worry, by the artist friend that I am exhibiting with. She has shown in Berlin recently and says that 'everyone' speaks English. I still find it uncomfortable to assume that people in their own country will speak another language, and feel I need to get a grip on at least some German basics.

So with the idea of doing a crash course in German, I load Duolingo onto my iPad.

I get started with class 1.01, as you do, and race through the lessons as my old brain archives get dusted off. I get to say hello and goodbye. Ha, that was easy. So moving ahead, I get to phrases such as Schockolade ist lecker (chocolate is tasty) or das Kinder essen die Nudeln (the children eat noodles). Perhaps these are not going to be hugely helpful at the art fair?

I discover that words like like das Buch (book), der Apfel (apple) die Schule (school) das Brot (bread), die Kartoffel (potato) are still somewhere there in my brain, but how am I going to incorporate them into my art conversation with prospective customers? There are a couple of apples depicted in my paintings, so perhaps I could capitalise on this and point them out to my clients exclaiming 'Der Apfel!' in my best German. Yeah, sure.

 Work in progress for Cologne, 40x40 cm, oil on wood panel.

Work in progress for Cologne, 40x40 cm, oil on wood panel.

Best I start looking online for some art vocabulary in German.

I find a website with pictures of an art studio and everything labelled in German, which is a step in the right direction. But some of the words are killers! How will I ever remember these?

An exhibition is die Austellung. But which syllable do you put emphasise? A stretched canvas is die Leinwand (plural Leinwände). Lights are Scheinwerferlichter.

Better move on to phrases. I am surprised to find something that looks relevant. Maybe I have hit art fair gold...

Sprechen dich diese Gemälde an? (Do these paintings appeal to you?) Hmmm, perhaps not the best conversation starter...

Ich habe den Nachmittag damit verbracht, ein Bild zu malen. (I spent the afternoon painting a picture!) Haha, I wish!!!

Das Gemälde is den Preis, den Sie verlangen, nicht wert. (The painting is not worth the price you are asking!) Just as well there is no way I will ever understand this one, so can smile and be ignorant.

So, where does this leave me. The Duolingo lessons are gradually dropping by the wayside. I am getting email reminders that I have missed my daily goals and am falling behind. Just want I want to hear. How about a bit of encouragement to get me restarted?

So instead I am in my studio painting long hours, preparing my best new work for the fair.

For the first time in a decade I am making some small scale pieces (oil on wood panel), and am feeling surprisingly happy with the process and results. I have realised that working on either a very small or very large scale suits me, and is in harmony with the ideas behind the paintings. It's the mid-size where I run into problems.  'Dishwasher' size is my most dreaded format. I try to make it work, and stretch a 60x80 cm canvas as a test. I draw the image onto it, but it just looks wrong and I scrap it almost immediately. The woman needs to be either way under life size or much larger than life. The only solution is to crop the image to maintain the scale, so we will see...

As for showing in Cologne (minus any significant skills in the German language) I am hoping that my pictures and smiling face will speak the thousand German words that will NOT be coming out of my mouth.

 On the easel, new works for Kölner-Liste

On the easel, new works for Kölner-Liste


Kölner-Liste Art Fair will be held from April 28-30 at XPOST Köln, Gladbacher Wall 5, 50670 Cologne, with the opening on Thursday, April 27th, 2017, 6 to 10 pm. I have a small number of invitations, so if you would like to attend the opening or visit on the Friday simply send me a message and your invitation will be emailed to you.


Are all your walls taken - no space for any more art?


Are you, like me, a minimalist at heart, and don't like being crowded in by too much stuff?

Where does all this stuff come from? Maybe you have made a conscious decision to downsize. But it's a moving target.

Marie Kondo and her clutter reducing methods are the tip of a growing iceberg. More like an avalanche. You crave simplicity; wish for an empty inbox, a tiny to-do list, not to mention time to read all those classic books on your bucket list...

But how does this apply to art, because you LOVE art? Art is not clutter.

Unless your walls are crammed bumper to bumper and it all starts feeling a bit like like wallpaper, and new purchases are still unwrapped waiting to find a suitable spot. You have an art overpopulation problem.

Clearly, the solutions are not rocket science. You either recycle ie sell some of it, store it, lend it, send it to your office or holiday house, open your own museum, or do nothing and live with it as it is.

 I would argue that it's not necessary to live with the same artworks for the rest of your life. It is natural for tastes to change and develop, and that perhaps it is time to let a work go to make the place for a new one. It's not admitting failure or a bad decision. We move on, and perhaps it's time to for some of your artworks to find new homes.


Art  is not meant to end up like wallpaper.

Art is supposed to add life, or drama, joy, tranquility - some deep emotion -  to your living or working spaces. If the feeling is gone and it becomes like wallpaper, it's time to act. Once a year I rehang most of the art in my home, pulling it down starting from scratch. Works placed next to different works or in other rooms create vital new conversations. It all feels fresh and amazing walking into a room with newly hung artworks.

Having to choose

As an artist who makes predominantly larger pieces, I often hear exasperated collectors asking about smaller pieces, because 'there is no room'.  It is true. Once the walls are filled you have to decide. You can't have it all. There is a choice between acquiring one major feature piece for a wall, or going for a salon style hanging of multiple smaller works. There is a place for both.

Newer collectors often mistakenly believe that a small room can't take a larger work. Personally I love the bold, confident choice of a single dramatic artwork in a small room, rather than hedging your bets and displaying multiple smaller pieces. 

The artist's idea matters

Finally, from the artist's point of view, the choice of how big or small to make an artwork is integrally tied to the idea behind the piece. We all know that if Jeff Koons' 'Puppy' were made the size of a real dog instead of a giant, it would read totally differently. In my paintings I have deliberately chosen to depict my female character as a heroic giant, larger than human size. So the paintings end up being big.

As an experiment over the past few weeks, I have been making some very small works. Small for me, that is - forty by forty centimetres; just to see what happens when I model my scale on the likes of Vermeer, Metsu and Maes. I am fascinated by the results. It's such a mind shift.

The big theme running through all of my work is about looking at and empowering the overlooked. In the large scale paintings you are forcibly confronted with a giant woman of mythical proportions. In the new small pieces she is still bigger than her surroundings, as the scale is relative, but it is much more quiet and intimate.

Here is a sneak peek, for your eyes only (almost complete but not quite). If you would like to see more, please visit Instagram and find more progress pics at aerfeldt_art.



Blood, sweat and tears (part two)

 This was first posted in 2014 on my old website. I am reposting it now in 2016 seeing the painting is finally completed and showing in my solo exhibition at Castang Art Project.

In the last post I talked about the planning part of making a painting. Here is the painting part, mostly in images.  Every painting follows its particular course and has its own life, so here is the life of just one painting. Progress is not clear cut – there are steps backwards then forwards and sideways.


So this is where I have stopped this work for now. It is pretty much finished (just needs to be re-stretched) but there is always the possibility that after putting it aside for a while I will want to make more changes. Sometimes enough is enough and I have to stop myself or works would never get finished. Often further changes will just make the painting different, not necessarily better. Best to move on to a new canvas. Knowing when to let go and move forward is not simple for me.

Old master methods and materials

Over the past few years I have been researching old master methods and materials, not because I want to paint old fashioned pictures but because learning new skills and techniques expands my painting vocabulary. As a result I now refine my own linseed oil (the raw cold ground version) using gin or vodka and a kind of bran, and then thicken it in the summer sun just like Rembrandt and Velasquez. This makes for a much nicer painting medium which makes the paint dry faster and blend better. I have also totally eliminated solvents from my oil painting practice. I now mix my tube paints with the special refined and thickened oil, lightly 'beaten' egg white, and ground chalk (marble dust) from the Champagne region. All of this information can be found in books by Louis Velasquez (no relation) or on Youtube. He has called this old master ‘medium’ Calcite Sun Oil. It takes a while to get your head around the new way of working but it’s actually very simple.

Blood, sweat and tears (part one)


This was first posted in 2014 on my old website. I am reposting it now in 2016 seeing the painting is finally completed and showing in my solo exhibition at Castang Art Project.

I realise that nowhere in this blog have I actually discussed in any detail the process I use to make a painting. People sometimes think that I stand in front of the canvas and get inspired, then just start painting. Unfortunately, like most things in life, it's not that simple. There's a lot of planning that takes place even before the brush hits the canvas. For artists reading this, of course you will know all about the planning stages, although everyone's process is different. My own way of working changes and evolves, and not every piece is made in the same way. It gets boring to have a set formula.

This is PART ONE as it started turning into an encyclopedia. PART TWO will arrive in another week.

For the purposes of the exercise I'm going to use the current painting I've been working on as an example. It's from the 'woman and lamp' theme I began a few years ago. The painting was put into hibernation (ie thrown aside in disgust) for ages because sections of the surface got too slippery to work on, which was my fault. As a result it almost got binned, but instead I restrained myself slightly and just ripped it off its stretcher, rolled it up and put it out of sight on top of a big wardrobe. For the following couple of years I kept seeing progress photos of it on my computer, and decided that I still liked the image amd composition and would start a new version, so I pulled it out and stapled it to the wall to do a tracing of it for the new painting. To cut a long story slightly shorter, I decided I had nothing to lose, so had a final go at the old version before it hit the bin. Fast forward a few weeks and it seems I have now saved the original version. I also, however, have a new verson drawn up ready to go on a new canvas... But we won't discuss this right now.

Here is the version that ended up on top of the wardrobe. And it looks a lot more finished in the photos than it actually is.



Anyway, back to the topic, and sorry for the lengthy sidestep.

For me the idea comes first, usually as a thought out of the blue when I'm not expecting it, so it has to get scribbled down before I forget. It takes the the form of a little drawing and theoretically SHOULD go into one of my sketchbooks but often my sketchbook is not handy so it ends up on a scrap of paper - whatever I have around - an old envelope, back of a bill... I usually get around to sticking it into my notebook later or redrawing it there from the rough version. Funnily the first and roughest version usually captures the idea better than when I redraw it and start to think too hard about what I am doing.

Step 2 is editing the many ideas and deciding which to take further. I have many more ideas than I could ever paint, so coming up with ideas is not an issue for me. It's deciding which are the best ones. A theme usually develops. Or I try to stick to one theme at a time for practical reasons.

Step 3 is doing more drawings and planning the image in detail. I actually set up the scene with a model posing and props, some of which I usually have to make. This means I need to work out exactly what I require in terms of objects in advance, and set about finding, buying, making or acquiring them. This can sometimes take weeks, especially if I have to order items from eBay, and I then customise them for my purposes. Most recently I have bought masses of studs and spikes from China and have been attaching them to household objects that I had already or found in discount or charity stores.

Here are some of the props for the vase-lamp painting. I bought metres and metres of electric cable and lots of globes from the hardware store, then got my partner to wire them up. The fuses in the house only went once, thanks to one bulb that was wrongly wired. And of course it was MY fault for turning on too many lights all at once, that is until the real mistake was discovered.



Step 4 is organising a person to model, setting up the scene and taking the reference photos. Actually all of my models are friends or people I know from somewhere. I would actually prefer to do paint the whole thing from life but I don't have anyone willing to sit for a month or more, so I take photos for the figure. I can always go back to the actual objects when it comes to painting the 'still life' component, and often do. 

The photos usually get taken in my living room where I can control the lighting. Setting up lights is an art, one which I am pretty bad at. It's a lot of trial and error, so learning more about photography lighting is on my agenda for the future. Most often I prefer a single or limited light source - whatever is needed to get some decent shadows which help in modelling forms. I used to not worry too much about the backgrounds as I could photoshop them out, but I'm becoming more picky now as it can be a lot of work erasing stuff later that didn't need to be there in the first place.

Taking the photos for a couple of paintings takes most of a day. 



Step 5 is sorting through the images and digital editing. Sorting through the hundreds of shots can take several days. It usually gets reduced down to half a dozen possible shots per painting, and then I start working on the computer, adding in backgrounds from my image library, and doing a lot of digital changes, including quite major distortions, colour and tone enhancements, and testing various possible compositions. This can take another week. I need time to think about the different versions rather than just launching into the painting. If the composition is not right before you begin it's like building a house on foundations that are in the wrong place. Deciding you want a bigger bathroom is a lot easier to achieve while it's still at the plan stage. It takes a lot longer to fix it later.

Below is the my digital source image. I pasted in a background photo I took of the sea near where I live, although you don't get to see much of it. You can see I've flipped the original photo. I can't remember exactly why, but often if I'm doing a series of several related paintings I don't want all of the figures facing the same way, so I mix it up. 



Scale, meaning the size of the painting, needs to thought out too. What is the best size for the work? As I've mentioned in a previous post, I make all of my figures larger than life size for maximum impact. I want them to look more like giants than normal people. I have a basic idea of the size I want from the start but to fine tune I project the digital image onto a wall. Practicality does come into it. I need to make works that fit into my studio and will go out of the door. I am still dreaming of making a 3 metre version but need a bigger door first.

By the time any painting gets started it's at least a few months into the process.The preparation generally takes fifty percent of the time, and actual painting takes fifty percent.

I will post the second part very soon.


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