Thoughts on Prismacolor

Helleborus x ballardiae 'Pink Frost'

This week, one of our class assignments involved a colored pencil plant portrait. The original request was for a rose, plant and all, but growing roses are in short supply in a Pacific Northwest February. I really didn't like the idea of using a de-prickled florist's rose, so I found a nice blooming hellebore instead.

Hellebore (also called Lenten rose, among others things) is one of my favorite plants. We never had them back in the South, and maybe that's one reason I'm so taken with them. In the middle of winter, when nothing much is happening in the garden, here come the hellebores. Their colors are so unique, so minor-key: greenish purples, reddish-grays, greenish-whites. It doesn't hurt that there's so much lore surrounding the hellebore; their ethnobotanical history stretches back for centuries and spans multiple continents.

Capturing the full range of color was a real challenge. I'm not sure I could've done better with watercolor, or any other medium. Possibly a strong, expressionistic oil in bold strange tones? But the colored pencil did okay with the tonal range, especially the purplish-browns. The greens suffered, I think.

In fact, the whole painting isn't as strong as I'd like. Hellebores are so tough and have such a leathery, sculptural presence; colored pencil has always seemed to me a bit too delicate for many subjects, and this is one of them. It's a bit saccharine for a flower once described thusly (Quoted from theGoGardenNow blog):

"Sydney Dobell (1824-1874), in Balder, mused of 'hellebore, like a girl-murderess, green-eyed & sick with jealousy, & white with wintry thoughts of poison.'" 

I was warned that hellebore is nearly impossible to cut and paint, since it withers almost immediately. So I found an amazing potted specimen at the nursery down the road and now I'll have another of these beauties for the yard.

I used both Prismacolor and Faber-Castell Polychromos on 11 x 17 Arches hot press watercolor paper. I've made the mistake of using watercolor paper with colored pencil before, and it was a mistake again this time too. Perhaps it's the sizing, but the colored pencil tends to "bead up" or ball up, making little spots of waxy color that are nearly impossible to eradicate. I don't have this trouble on Bristol or other illustration boards.

Using a lot of pressure, assorted stiff tortillons, and nearly an entire colorless blender, I managed to smooth and mix the pigment. Maybe I'll remember next time and just get out the Bristol. It's a heck of a lot cheaper than Arches anyway. 

I have a feeling I'll be revisiting Helleborus again. It probably won't be this year, since these guys are starting to edge past their peak bloom season even now. I'll miss them, green-eyed thoughts and all.

Work vs. Spring

Here in the lower mountains of the Issaquah Alps, it's not really spring yet. This was our first week of sunny days and temperatures above the low forties, though, and it was painful to spend so many hours indoors.




In fact, I cut a few corners on my coursework this week, and while I wish I had some better work to show, in my defense: the peas are in. The French mignonette strawberries are in the cold frame. Half the world is sprouting.



I did manage to eke out a few pieces for class. This oakleaf hydrangea leaf in colored pencil represents one of the last hangers-on from my fall garden. I planted a little dwarf Hydrangea quercifolia last year (I seem to have lost the varietal name, but I'm still looking) and it's done well, well enough to leave me a leaf to draw, anyway.

Hydrangea quercifolia leaf, overwintered
Laura Allen, 2020

The leaf itself didn't last long once I plucked it. I had to work quickly, and not just because I wanted to get back to planting the new clematis. I used a light graphite underdrawing and then Prismacolor and Polychromos colored pencils. I did a light shadow layer first in slate blue, and then started working in earnest, section by section.



The petiole of this plant is quite hairy, and I wasn't sure how to render that in colored pencil. I think I did okay; I at least attained "fuzzy." I hear you can use an embossing tool, which leaves an indention in the paper that your colored pencil will skip over, but I haven't tried it.







Of the other work I did this week, I like this little American holly seedling best. On one of the sunny mornings this week, I took a stroll along our rudimentary trail through the woods. I always try to snip an overhanging branch here or pull up an encroacher there, and this little guy came up entire and intact.

I used watercolor and Micron pen, and he lived in my paint water between sessions.

Quick Post, Quick Pen

It's Valentine's Day and I have cake to bake, so I'll make this quick....

Here's a pen and ink sketch of my favorite houseplant, the fat-leaved variegated peperomia. I did this in one day, basically at one sitting, using Micron pens on Bristol.

As I've mentioned before, a solid pencil drawing underneath is absolutely key. I heard that for so long and said to myself, "Sure, yeah, makes sense," but then still went right ahead without making one. Part of it's due to my years in the fine art department. I was doing more expressionistic work at the time, and so was everyone else; underdrawings were out of vogue and we were encouraged to start painting immediately and "find the form in the process."

It's a valid way of working and I have some lovely paintings done in a more exploratory style, but for this work, the drawing is crucial.

I like working this way. It's both challenging and Zen at the same time.

Peperomia obtusifolia var. 'Variegata'
Laura Allen, 2020

Ink's Not So Bad

winter roots of Dahlia 'Manhattan Island'
Laura Allen, 2020

This week, three separate people have asked me about teaching. I've taught classes and workshops in the past; before I moved to Seattle, I made much of my living doing community courses, adjunct teaching, and adult workshops. 

(One memorable summer, I even taught a set design course for a large children's theatre program. Never ever mention "High School Musical" to me, and especially don't hum the songs. I have

trauma.)


Aside from that, though, I love teaching and I plan to do it again. One of the reasons I'm taking this botanical illustration course from Cornell is to build my nature art portfolio. It's always tough to do finished work in the rush of a class, but this dahlia is a keeper. 

The main reason this turned out so nicely is that I'm seriously intimidated by ink. My crosshatching is cruddy and so's my stippling; I'm just a bit too heavy-handed for ink, or something. So I made a very detailed pencil underdrawing, and used every pen trick I knew.

The best advice I've ever heard is from artist Alphonso Dunn. He recommends saving pens that are running out of ink to use for shading.

It works. This dahlia root was shaded almost entirely with running-out Micron .005 pens. I took my time; it's an eight-hour drawing or so, maybe a little more. Making sure all the root paths matched up was the challenging part. 

I drew the main roots first, with their major mixmaster intersections clearly indicated. There are one or two that got drawn over, but you'd have to get a magnifying glass to find them, I think. The

drawing is life-sized, by the way, as is common in botanical illustration. It's on 11 x 17 Bristol and I used .005 Microns almost exclusively.

So, for now, still brushing up the skills...be back next week.