Introduction to Jeffrey T. Larson's Book: Old School New Art

This right here is the *official* release of a massive project by Jeffrey T. Larson to you, our valued subscriber.

The venture began in 2020 in the thick of COVID. While many of us were learning to make sourdough and cocktails, my dad began writing a book. Knowing that the world truly didn’t need one more “art book” (many of which say the same flowery cliches), he decided to get rid of the fluff and provide a toolkit (rather than a feel-good experience) containing the gear that is actually required to become an artist from his experience. This is not an art tutorial but an invitation to hear what the trenches looked like over the years from a renowned artist himself.

This book is intended for the artist. Whether you’ve been at it for decades or are excited about beginning the journey, my dad’s goal is to provide you with his best advice, motivation, and brutal honesty about what it truly takes to not only become an artist but create a lasting career as one.

Because of the immense value this publication series holds as well as the amount of time and energy it has taken, we will have this book available to subscribers for $10/month. We will release the book in sections alongside extra content. We will hold conversations and discussions surrounding the chapter topics as well.

The introduction will be in this first publication for all to read, free of charge, to give you a taste of it and to see if it is something that you are interested in.

If this is not for you, but you know someone who may benefit from these writings, please pass our Substack along.

Without further ado, we are thrilled to introduce to you:

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Introduction

This is for all of you who have loved drawing and creating for as long as you can remember. You were always the class artist, and you spent hours pouring over art books at the library. Your mom still proudly displays your artwork on the fridge. This is for those of you who dream of someday becoming a full-time professional fine artist.

What the hell are you thinking?

Back in 1980, when I started my studies at Atelier Lack, there were only a handful of facilities left in the world teaching the fundamental techniques of the visual fine arts. These were the practices passed down through centuries, from master artist to apprentice, with each generation adding their own insights and genius to the tradition. The level of craftsmanship progressed, driven by brilliant, intelligent, and determined individuals. However, in the past six or seven decades, this invaluable knowledge was almost lost. Being the beneficiary of this training is priceless. It not only saves you decades of trial and error, but also prevents wasted time trying to reinvent the wheel on your own. Imagine a violinist scratching out notes with no instruction compared to one who receives training at a respected conservatory. If you believe that talent alone will get you there, you are gravely mistaken. Talent is common, but talent forged through intense training is not.

These thoughts emerged from the "conversation Fridays" we hold at Great Lakes Atelier of Fine Art. Several times a semester, my wife Heidi prepares a communal meal for the students, and we choose a subject to delve into. Initially, I expected these conversations to revolve around talks on values, figure drawing, art history, and color theory, questions the students might have that need to be addressed deeper than the day-to-day critiques allow. However, we discovered that regardless of the starting point, the discussions quickly veered toward motivation, work ethic, managing expectations, budgeting, attitude, and similar topics. This led me to reconsider and reexamine my forty years of experience as a full-time professional fine artist. What truly matters in the pursuit of becoming a professional artist? What in practical truth are the essential elements that successful, professional fine artists understand that the majority of those who fail don’t?

This book shares some of the things I've learned throughout my journey as a professional fine artist. It specifically focuses on a particular kind of artist, one that requires a unique skill set based on standards that are currently out of favor in today's definition of an "artist." My artistic interests have always centered around working within the continuation of the great tradition of Western art—artists who draw inspiration from the visual world and strive to recreate its beauty on canvas. I don't subscribe to the underlying postmodernist philosophy that forms the foundation of conceptual "modern" art. Occasionally I come across a conceptual piece that I find interesting, but most of the time, I find them pretentious and, frankly, boring. Some argue that traditional realism is outdated and unoriginal because it has been done before. I, however, fail to comprehend that viewpoint. We acknowledge that there are only seven different storylines that every novel falls under, yet we don't argue that we should abandon writing or reading novels, do we? Instead, we strive to tell the story in new and relevant ways, interpreting the past through the lens of today. So why would a classically trained, contemporary artist, living, observing, studying, and interpreting the magnificent natural world, not be considered a viable contemporary artist?

Early on, I realized that if I wanted to come close to creating the works I admired in museums within my lifetime, I needed to learn from the masters. I needed to stand on the shoulders of giants and avoid reinventing the wheel. I had to acknowledge that I didn't know much and immerse myself in a solid, traditional, classical training. This training taught me to paint accurately from life, translating the three-dimensional, full spectrum light onto a two-dimensional surface using basic and inadequate materials—essentially, ground dirt mixed with oil. What I soon discovered was that beyond learning how to paint, what I really needed was to learn how to truly see.

Referring to this style of painting has become somewhat challenging. "Traditional," "classical," "realistic"... How can one encapsulate the incredible variety of styles and movements that have flourished over the past five hundred years of Western art? My instructor, Richard Lack, coined the phrase "Classical Realism," which was a good start. However, I find it too broad, and lately, it has come to refer more to the results rather than the practice. With the widespread availability and use of computer images and photographs, I believe it is necessary to specify the primary practice employed in creating a painting and differentiate between art created primarily from life and art based on photo references. You might wonder why. From my perspective, having done this for quite some time, a work created from life and one created from mechanical reference yield different results. Recently, I have been referring to this overall style and tradition as "Contemporary Naturalistic painting" or "Contemporary Naturalism." While I apologize for borrowing the title from a group of nineteenth-century painters known as the school of Naturalism, it seems fitting for the present era. I specifically refer to what I do and teach as "Classical Impressionism," which can be defined as "form within an atmosphere”. It's not something I invented but in my view, it encapsulates the intention of artists such as Vermeer, Velasquez, Rembrandt, Sargent, Sorolla, Zorn, and Decamp, to name a few.

Ultimately, there are three underlying aspects: a love for the visible world, deep respect for artists who intelligently capture it, and a belief in artistic standards. Some criticize us for "just copying nature", claiming it lacks creativity. First of all, such statements are made by people who have no idea how challenging it is since they likely can't do it themselves. Accurately "copying" nature is deceptively difficult and requires about a decade of hard, intelligent work to achieve a high level of proficiency. Secondly, no artist worth their salt merely copies nature. At the very least, they intuitively edit and react to nature, eliminating non-essential elements to convey the personal beauty hidden within its chaos. Artistry begins with the editing process, and craftsmanship provides the foundation for artistry to stand upon. Most things look easy until you attempt to do it yourself and creating a solid representational painting is one such thing. Artists just aren’t born with some innate talent that allows them to produce a naturalistic masterpiece any more than just giving a musically inclined child a violin will produce beautiful music. Natural talent in all fields, sports, music, , cooking etc. doesn’t manifest itself into a high level until the individual submits themselves to the inherent and most oftentimes traditional discipline that has evolved through trial and error over time.

So, why bother? Why not just paint from a photograph or screen? Firstly, they are not as accurate as you might think. Secondly, if you were writing a biography of someone, would you rather have a few recordings of them telling their stories or have daily access to them, allowing you to inquire, question, listen, and learn? Over time, you would develop an intimate understanding of your subject, witnessing them in various moods and contexts, digging out further information. Photographs, whether in print or pixels, are similarly not as truthful as you might assume. They are mechanical reproductions that often edit out much of what the human eye might choose to capture. Moreover, the colors in photographs are also not entirely accurate mechanically recreated using dyes and the scene is flattened mechanically, lacking true depth. How often have you shown someone a photo you took and felt the need to add, "It looked much better in person"?

This has been my path for over forty years. I've probably made more mistakes than most, but I have learned a thing or two along the way. I've worked hard, very hard. I can say I’ve had far more good years than bad.  I started out as most artists do and I believe should: struggling.  This taught me grit and resilience and I probably look back on these years with the most fondness. While I can honestly say that I never pursued art for the money, I was pleasantly surprised when financial success eventually came. So let me clarify: when I say this is a little book about being an artist, it specifically pertains to building a lifelong career within the realm of "Contemporary Naturalism". A career that is founded on the craftsmanship gained through immersing oneself in a solid classical training.  A foundation that enables one to live as a contemporary artist working within the great, grand tradition before it was hijacked philosophically and turned into something else all together. This book is for those who have an inner burning to draw, to paint, to try and capture a bit of the beauty that they see all around them and are frustrated by their results. There are answers forged in the studios from centuries past, buried under the hubris that the modern art narrative rejects.  I hope this will shed some light on how to go about this and more importantly, help you decide: do you go for it and follow your dream?