Almost all who paint in oils use conventional brushes, but there’s a significant minority who sometimes, or frequently, use different tools to apply and shape the paint layer. Of those, the most popular are palette knives, generally used to move and mix paint on the palette. Others have used the other end of the brush stick to incise, or their fingers.

Marie Bashkirtseff’s painting of a class in the Académie Julien in Paris in 1881 demonstrates how oil painting should be done by the textbook. The artist, shown in her self-portrait in the centre foreground, is using a long-bladed palette knife to prepare the paint on her palette. At her feet, on an old sheet of newspaper, are her brushes, all with handles of typical length, and the pupil behind her is using a maul stick to rest her right hand while painting with her brush.

Gustave Courbet applied his paint using a palette knife for some of his paintings. This has been identified from the facture in some of his paintings of caves that he made from about 1864, including The Grotto of Sarrazine near Nans-sous-Sainte-Anne above.

Another enthusiast for painting with a knife was Auguste Renoir.

In 1866, Renoir painted his friend Jules Le Coeur and his Dogs in the Forest of Fontainebleau. This is unusual among his works, as it was preceded by two studies, and all three were made using the palette knife rather than brushes. This makes it most likely to have been painted before Renoir abandoned the knife and returned to the brush, by the middle of May 1866.

Renoir returned to the technique in The Mosque, also known as Arab Festival, in 1881. Small strokes of bright colour and energetic work with the palette knife give it a strong feeling of movement, and it so impressed Claude Monet that he bought it from Durand-Ruel in 1900.

Anna Althea Hills’ Fall, Orange County Park (1916) is a classic and highly accomplished plein air painting that appears to have been made with extensive and deft use of the knife, particularly in the foreground.

Perhaps the most famous artist who is known to have painted with his fingers is Leonardo da Vinci.

This Annunciation, painted in oil and tempera on a poplar panel, is generally agreed to be one of the earliest of Leonardo’s own surviving paintings. When it was painted is in greater doubt, but a suggestion of around 1473-75 seems most appropriate. There are numerous pentimenti, particularly in the head of the Virgin. Its perspective projection is marked in scores in its ground and Leonardo used his spontaneous and characteristic technique of fingerpainting in some of its passages.

Finally, some painters are well-known for their use of brushes with exceptionally long handles. These enabled them to stand back, sometimes almost on the opposite side of their studio, get an overall view of their canvas, and paint from the same distance as a viewer.

Like all plein air painters, Paul César Helleu (1859–1927) shown in John Singer Sargent’s An Out-of-Doors Study from about 1889, is using brushes with handles of modest length. His canvas is fairly small, and he’s working close-in while clutching a brace of brushes in his left hand. Some designed for use when painting in front of the motif have even shorter handles, but when back in the studio Helleu would almost certainly have opted for longer.

Whistler was renowned for using brushes with handles over one metre (39 inches) long, and appears to have used them when painting Symphony in White No. 1: The White Girl in 1862 on a canvas just over two metres (78 inches) tall. He reworked it between 1867-72 to make it more ‘spiritual’ and reduce its original realism.

Early in his career, Joaquín Sorolla established his reputation of painting ‘voraciously’, often using brushes with extremely long handles and large canvases. Although Sewing the Sail from 1896 may look a spontaneous study of the effects of dappled light, Sorolla composed this carefully with the aid of at least two drawings and a sketch, and given its 2.2 metre (87 inches) height, he was almost certainly using brushes of similar length.

Dante and Virgil are ferried across the River Styx to land at the entrance to the city of Dis, the lower depths of Hell (circles 6-9), but its gate is slammed shut on Virgil when he tries to secure their admission. He reassures Dante that he has been here once before, but Dante is staring at the top of the gate where the three Furies have appeared, wreathed in snakes.

Virgil names them to Dante: Megaera on the left, Alecto to the right, and Tisiphone between them. Megaera represents evil deeds, Tisiphone evil words, and Alecto evil thought. They are another crossover drawn from classical mythology into Dante’s Christian Hell.

The Furies call on Medusa to turn Dante to stone with the sight of her face, and Virgil makes Dante turn to look away from them, and close his eyes tightly.

A strong wind then blows across the marsh of the Styx towards them, as a mass of ghosts there part to make way for an angel who walks across the water towards the walls of Dis. Virgil gets Dante to bow in deference to the angel as he passes them by and opens the gate of Dis for them with his rod. The angel chides those inside for their resistance and immediately returns the way he came.

Virgil then leads Dante through the open gate onto a plain, its ground made uneven by the many tombs set in its surface. The stones on top of them are open, revealing flames within, and letting out cries of pain. Virgil explains that these contain heretics and their followers, and that their lids will only be closed with the Final Judgement. By heresy, Dante here means that these sinners denied the immortality of the soul.

Virgil points out the tomb of the Epicureans, then Dante is startled by the appearance of the head and upper body of Farinata degli Uberto in another.

Farinata was the leader of the Ghibellines of Florence, a family grouping that had been fighting against the Guelphs, including Dante himself. The Florentine then asks Dante who his ancestors were, and reveals that he had opposed Dante’s family. With Farinata are the last Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II and Cardinal Octavian, Ottaviano degli Ubaldini, who had been a powerful supporter of the Ghibellines prior to his death in 1273.

With Dante thinking on what he had heard, Virgil leads him into a gorge, in which they descend deeper into Hell.

The artists

William Blake (1757–1827) was a British visionary painter and illustrator whose last and incomplete work was an illustrated edition of the Divine Comedy for the painter John Linnell. Most of his works shown in this series were created for that, although he did draw and paint scenes during his earlier career. I have a major series on his work here.

Gustave Doré (1832–1883) was the leading French illustrator of the nineteenth century, whose paintings are still relatively unknown. Early in his career, he produced a complete set of seventy illustrations for translations of the Inferno, first published in 1857 and still remain in use. These were followed in 1867 by more illustrations for Purgatorio and Paradiso. This article looks at his paintings.

John Flaxman (1755–1826) was a British sculptor and draughtsman who occasionally painted too. When he was in Rome between 1787-91, he produced drawings for book illustrations, including a set of 111 for an edition of The Divine Comedy. In 1810, he was appointed the Professor of Sculpture to the Royal Academy in London, and in 1817 made drawings to illustrate Hesiod, which were engraved by William Blake.

Joseph Anton Koch (1768-1839) was an Austrian landscape painter, who worked mainly in Neoclassical style. During his second stay in Rome, he was commissioned to paint frescos in the Villa Massimi on the walls of the Dante Room there, which remain one of the most florid visual accounts of Dante’s Inferno. He completed those between 1824-29.

Bernardino Poccetti (1548-1612) was an Italian Mannerist painter and print-maker who was born in Florence and painted some magnificent frescoes in the palaces of the richest families there.

John Singer Sargent (1856–1925) was an American painter who worked much of his career in Europe. Trained in Paris, he was a highly successful portraitist in Paris then London. One of the most gifted and prolific painters of the nineteenth century, his work is rich in bravura brushstrokes and highly individualistic. In his later career, he painted large murals on the East Coast of America, including Orestes Pursued by the Furies in Boston, MA, which he started in 1922, and completed in 1925, just prior to his death. Over its 100 square feet of canvas, it shows a young and naked Orestes cowering under the attacks of the Furies, as he tries to run from them.

References

Wikipedia
Danteworlds

Robin Kirkpatrick (trans) (2012) Dante, The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso, Penguin Classics. ISBN 978 0 141 19749 4.
Richard Lansing (ed) (2000) The Dante Encyclopedia, Routledge. ISBN 978 0 415 87611 7.
Guy P Raffa (2009) The Complete Danteworlds, A Reader’s Guide to the Divine Comedy, Chicago UP. ISBN 978 0 2267 0270 4.
Prue Shaw (2014) Reading Dante, From Here to Eternity, Liveright. ISBN 978 1 63149 006 4.

On the face of it, watercolour painting should be the simplest of all the more popular painting media. The paper is both support and ground, the paint layer is thin, with a little binder of gum arabic and a diluent of plain water. Although some have tried using varnish and other protective layers, in the great majority of watercolour paintings, that’s all there is.

In practice, though, as anyone who has taken watercolour painting seriously knows, there’s a great deal more to it. Much of that is hard to see and can only be inferred from images of watercolour paintings.

Raphael’s The Miraculous Draft of Fishes (c 1515-16) is among the earliest large paintings made using opaque watercolour. Because of limitations in the manufacture of paper at the time, it was made on many sheets that have been mounted on canvas. At around 3 x 4 metres (10.5 x 13 feet), it’s huge by any standards, and even today would probably need to be painted on multiple sheets and mounted on added support.

Over three centuries later, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Marie Spartali Stillman painted her watercolours in layers, using a combination of transparent and opaque watercolour on paper that had been hot-pressed to give it a satin-smooth finish. When re-wetted with another layer of wet paint, watercolour usually becomes liquid again, resulting in the layers mixing. Great care and skill is required to apply wet watercolour on dry paint in the way that she did. Even then some paintings simply don’t work, the layers mix and that attempt has to be discarded. When successful, the end result can resemble layered oil paints, which don’t suffer the same problem when dry paint is overpainted.

The Childhood of Saint Cecily (1883) was one of the last paintings Stillman composed when she lived in Florence, as reflected in its idealised Tuscan background. As with so many paintings of saints, it departs from even the most inventive of hagiographies, here for the patron saint of music, Cecilia. The saint is shown playing a harp-like psaltery, while an angel adjusts the garland on her head. She has worked subtle patterns into the blue fabric on the arm of the angel, and in the side of the instrument. Flowers and hair have fine detail with sharp highlights, just as might be seen with oils.

Love’s Messenger (1885) is probably the finest of her single-figure paintings, and was her most successful ‘problem picture’. The woman stands by her embroidery at an outside window. On her right hand is a messenger dove/pigeon, to which a letter is attached. She clutches that letter to her breast with her left hand, implying that its contents relate to matters of the heart. The dove is being fed corn, which could either be its reward for having reached its destination (thus the woman is the recipient of the message), or preparation for its departure (she is the sender). Despite being exhibited at the Grosvenor Gallery in 1885, and elsewhere, this painting didn’t sell until after she had reworked the background in the 1890s, which must have been a feat in itself.

A detail view of Love’s Messenger shows how her watercolour technique results in a facture more closely resembling that of oils, although this painting is an extreme example with its use of tempera too. This was accomplished by using transparent watercolours more like oil glazes, and gouache (opaque watercolour) for details.

Her portrait of Beatrice (1896) refers to Dante’s Vita Nuova, through Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s popular translation into English. In this her first version, she shows Dante’s beloved Beatrice lost in contemplation while reading, an intimate insight set firmly in the Pre-Raphaelite mediaeval. This was exhibited at the New Gallery later that year.

This detail view of Beatrice provides more insight into her exacting technique.

Over the same period, other artists were developing techniques for use on cold-pressed paper with its coarser texture.

At a time when most watercolour painting was still disparagingly considered to be ‘drawing’ for routine topographic views, Alexander Cozens developed specialist techniques, such as keeping ‘reserved space’ to let his white paper ground show through, wet on wet as well as wet on dry application of paint, and scratching out. He also employed both transparent and opaque paints for different effects.

JMW Turner did a great deal to advance both technique and the critical reception of large watercolour works painted in the studio, although even today his oils are much better known, with a few exceptions such as his sublime paintings of the Rigi.

Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Winslow Homer earned his place as one of the greatest watercolour painters of America during a period spent in a fishing community in north-east England. The advanced techniques which he used are shown well in The Watcher, Tynemouth (1882), and include both transparent and opaque paints, rewetting and blotting to remove paint for highlights, scraping, application of wax to resist the adherence of paint, and the use of pure gum solution as a glaze. In this case, his paper is only lightly textured, though.

Perhaps the greatest exponent of these techniques was another American, John Singer Sargent.

Sargent’s most radical watercolours were painted when he stayed with various friends in the Bellevue Hotel, at the top of the Simplon Pass, in the summers before the First World War. While his family and friends whiled away their days in leisure, Sargent got them to pose for a unique series of informal portraits. They may have been reclining at leisure, but Sargent took those watercolours very seriously, and deployed an amazing array of techniques. Among the finest is his Simplon Pass: The Tease from the summer of 1911.

One of his most unusual techniques, used extensively here, is wax resist. Before applying paint, Sargent scribbled over areas intended to be vegetation, using a soft wax crayon, probably made from beeswax. On fairly rough paper, that wax is deposited unevenly, and when painted over using watercolour it shows the white paper through. This creates disruptive patterns of near-white in the midst of the greens, and a superb textural effect, as shown in this detail.

In complete contrast, Edward Robert Hughes’ Night with her Train of Stars of the following year has been painted in a controlled and meticulous manner, although it too uses advanced techniques, particularly in the sky and background. I suspect that some of the latter may have relied on the scattering of salt grains to impart its fine texture. In other passages he has allowed different colours to rewet and blur what would otherwise be sharp edges.

Of course, AI can now mimic these when provided with suitable original material to plagiarise. But there’s still nothing like an original painted by a master.