Processes: Photographing the Artist Who Painted the Photographer

As a portrait photographer I can't help but be fascinated by portrait painters.

On a superficial level, we're doing the same thing – capturing a likeness of the person in front of us, hoping to elicit a particular mood, feeling, or aspect of personality through the pose, light and expression.

The difference, though, is not only in the medium and materials but in the time taken, and the impact that has, in both the approach and the result.

While I have had a basic understanding of this for many years, when I had my portrait painted by the incredibly talented Ewan McClure, the direct experience of being on the other side of the creator's eye gave me a much deeper appreciation of it.

A photograph might only take 1/125th of a second to capture someone's face, but it's rare for it to all be over as quick as that. Quite apart from whether they might have been blinking in that moment, there is also the the need to do test shots to make sure everything is right for the image we wish to create - from the lighting to the pose to the angle of the camera, not to mention whether the background is complimenting or detracting from the intent.

In reality, though, the biggest amount of my time is in building the relationship with the sitter. Most people are anxious in front of the camera for a whole variety of reasons. So if I want to get a good photo, where the person owns the space they are in and projects the chosen aspect of their personality, rather than just looking uncomfortable, then I have to create a safe space of trust, relaxation and confidence.

This state is rarely reached in only a few minutes.

In fact it's not uncommon for at least an hour to pass, chatting and having coffee, before the camera even gets taken out of the bag.

This is not procrastination or time wasting – it is one of the key parts of the journey towards allowing the subconscious part of their brain to switch off their fight-or-flight response and cease to see the photography session as a threat.

That we end up with a good likeness, which the client is happy with, is a beneficial side-effect of the whole process - not just about me knowing what settings I should have on the camera.

It's a bit like for those who practice Zen archery – from the outside the viewer thinks it is all about hitting the target. However, everything is actually about achieving the right physical position and meditative state of mind. The fact that you then hit the target perfectly with the arrow is a by-product of all that has gone before.

Sitting for 3 days in front of a master artist at work, I gained insights into the very different processes Ewan goes through.

The first thing I noticed was, unlike many artists who have their canvas next to them as they paint, Ewan likes to set up the easel immediately to the side of the sitter. This allows him to stand at a distance and compare, side by side, the painting and the subject.

He looks; he mixes his colour on the palette; he brings the brush back up and rehearses his brushstroke; he strides forward several steps and applies the paint; he steps back and contemplates the mark he has just made, and then starts the process again.

This is no street-artist, 5-minute caricature sketch. 

Ewan does not mark out the figure on the board first -  for most of the time he is painting he is not thinking about detail - instead he looks for blocks of light and colour.

Our brain is incredibly good at telling us what we think we see – to the point where it is almost impossible to accurately take in what it actually in front of us.

We know, for example, that the sky is blue, but if we colour the sky in a single shade of “sky-blue” it will look utterly false. There are subtle gradations that can move from indigos through to golds, depending on the time of day, the patterns of the clouds, and the environment we are in. Our simple idea of a blue sky comes from how we are taught to identify, file, and move on, during our childhood.

What colour is the sky? It's blue! Next?

Learning to see the colours as they really are, rather than what we think they are is extraordinarily difficult.

So Ewan uses all sorts of tricks to prevent his brain from hijacking his vision and adding stuff that isn't actually there.

One solution I love is he takes the frame of a pair of glasses, and partially covers where the lenses would have been with sticky tape, which blurs out the detail and allows him to just see patches of light and colour.

Other times he will pull out a small mirror and place it to one side of his face, or even below his eyes, to look at a reflected version of me in a way that the brain isn't used to, and so cannot impose its expectations on Ewan's vision as quickly.

When I first sat on the stool he'd set up for me, we went through various postures and angles so he could see how the light was falling.

Unlike my own set ups where I will often use artificial lighting, which I can move until I'm happy with the right combination of where the light and shadows fall, he prefers natural light when possible. For his portrait of me, we were in the studio of the Edwardian Scottish artist, E.A. Hornel, in Broughton House (now owned and run by National Trust Scotland) where Ewan was artist in residence.

This huge room – 2 storeys high – has large skylight windows covering the entire north side of the roof, letting the natural daylight flood in, but without having any harsh shadows from direct sunlight.

This enabled Ewan to direct me to move this way or that to ensure the light fell on my face in a way he was happy with.

I also played around with a few postures and shapes, and he liked it when I crossed my left leg over my right, and my right arm over my left, so we decided to go with this pose.

While this felt perfectly natural to begin with, it didn't take long for me to realise I rarely stay in that position for more than a few minutes before I swap legs or shift my body in other ways. As such, I began to regret not adopting a pose that might have been easier to hold for longer periods of time without the need to get up and stretch so frequently.

But it's not just the posture that is impossible to hold for hours on end – you also can't hold an expression.

The speed at which the camera operates can allow me to capture the most fleeting of looks on the face. Indeed, I work this to my advantage all the time, attempting to elicit a particular mood or feeling in the sitter for just long enough for me to go click. The difference between 2 photos of someone taken only half a second apart can be significant.

See how long you can hold a smile, and keep it looking genuine, before a sort of rictus grin begins to spread across your face!

Over the course of many hours then, the artist is far more likely to end up with your default face – the one you have when you are not making continual adjustments to it for the benefit of the person you are with.

Even more so as Ewan is trying deliberately not to be influenced by your personality, so his brain can't hijack his perception and end up caricaturing the portrait.

But surely the artist is trying to reveal some inner truth about the sitter?

No, not particularly.

Ewan is pursuing the “truth of the light” - trying to capture the elusive way light falls, colour is reflected and shadow is created, without the brain leaping in and imposing what it thinks he wants to see.

If he gets it right then the visual likeness of the sitter is the outcome, although like the Zen archer, it is a by-product of the process.

However, it's very rare that he is ever truly satisfied with a painting – not in the way that I can be satisfied with a photo.

Every now and then I create an image that achieves everything I set out to get – not just in terms of the final look, but in how the people I was with enjoyed the process, and how the image is received by those looking at it afterwards.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I create something which goes beyond what I could have hoped to achieve, and this gives me a real high – a rush – a major smug moment.

I've come to realise that this is what I'm ultimately chasing. But as I improve in my photography, it gets harder and harder to go beyond what I thought I was capable of. However, I experience it just enough times to keep me chasing the next hit rather than abandoning it and taking up macramé instead.

But if Ewan is never completely satisfied with the end result, why does he keep at it? Where's the reward?

And the answer is in the process.

While he is painting, every now and then he'll make a mark, a stroke, and something will perfectly align in his soul. This is what he is chasing.

Yes it's nice if the final image resembles the sitter. Yes it's lovely if the sitter actually likes it. And yes, it's wonderful if someone wants to give him some money for it. But none of these things is what he's actually thinking about when he is pursuing his truth of the light.

I questioned my wife (the artist, Maggie Ayres) about this, and the way she approaches her abstract art. She was in complete agreement with Ewan.

Very rarely is she ever completely satisfied with the final painting. However, if she's lucky, then during the process she will find a line, a mark, even a smudge of such exquisite beauty, that she says will caress her bones.

And then she wants to be able to grab someone and show them that bit and say, “Here! See this! This is what it's all about!” But the viewer, more often than not, is looking at the whole piece and seeing something entirely different, perhaps wondering if the colours would match their carpet and curtains.

How I love these kinds of conversations – exploring and discovering the thoughts, moods and emotions behind the creative processes of creative people.

However, one other thing I came to realise – or rather had to keep being reminded of – was that it was extraordinarily difficult for Ewan to have these conversations while he was painting.

I am so used to conversing practically non-stop throughout my photography sessions, that I forget not everyone is like me. Additionally, my constant chatter is a part of my process to keep and develop the connection with the sitter, in order to allow them to relax and feel safe, comfortable and able to explore feelings and expressions.

Ewan, though, wasn't trying to get a smile out of me that could last for the many hours it would take him to paint it. Instead, he was looking for light, form and colour.

Eventually I realised that for me it would be more like someone trying to hold a conversation with me while I was editing the photo.

Each photo I take only requires a few seconds of intense concentration, and then I can go back to moving lights, suggesting posture changes, and continuing conversations.

But when I'm in editing mode, I have to completely zone out from the rest of the world and any distractions. I need to be totally immersed in the process to know which pixels I have to push and in which direction.

At the end of the second day, we reached a point where the light was disappearing from skylights and Ewan felt he might be able to finish from photos he had taken, but if not, I might be called back for a final session.

I looked at the painting. And then he put it in a frame and I looked again.

It was so strange, seeing myself in oils.

So different from a photo.

In my self portraits there's always a playfulness of some kind. Photography, for me, is like being let loose with an infinite dressing up box – it's a place to play, act, and create stories.

But with this, I didn't have a warm smile, or an exaggerated expression, so I was struck by the seriousness.

Many hours of sitting, unable to hold a smile, a cocked eyebrow, or even a scowl, meant the accumulated paint captured the default look on my face – one where I am not attempting to convey something to someone else.

I was reminded of those large portraits of dignitaries in public buildings. I wasn't wearing a suit or chain of office or fancy hat, but the painting still seemed to exude an air of authority.

This man knows what he's doing. This man is definitely a grown up.

Projections to an outside world that don't particularly tally with how I feel on the inside.

My mother used to say I was such a serious child. And, truth be told, as an adult I've always been envious of people who are truly relaxed and playful – it's something I work on, but it's never felt like it comes that naturally.

Is this how others see me?

A client cancelled an appointment, so I let Ewan know I could go back for a 3rd sitting if he wanted.

He wasn't enjoying working from his reference photos, which never have the same depth of tonal range we perceive with our own eyes, so was pleased to have me back in the studio again, and told me it should be relatively brief.

Relatively brief turned out to be most of the day, but it was worth it. Subtle adjustments to shapes and lines, more detail and texture, and a slight softening of my expression – perhaps even a touch of warmth and friendliness showing through.

This painting wasn't created for me, though. 

Ewan needs to paint, even when he is not taking on a paid commission. Partly he needs to keep his hand in and develop his skills, but also he needs new pieces for his portfolio and exhibitions.

He saw something in me he wanted to capture, and I was more than happy to help out an artist I'd already connected with, and I enjoyed his company. Besides, I was intensely curious what the experience would be like, and wondered if it might even have an impact or influence on my portrait photography.

So the expression Ewan painted wasn't up to me. I wasn't there to dictate they way he should present me in his painting, and I was perfectly happy for him to seek his truth in the way he captured my image. 

But I have to say I did feel a slight sense of relief that I wasn't looking so serious in the final version.

It was a fascinating experience – from being the subject rather than the creator of the image, through exploring Ewan's approach to his art, through to my own reactions to the final painting.

I am in awe of his skill, and I think part of me will be processing this for some time to come.

A couple of months later, I got to see the finished painting, now varnished and framed, in a solo exhibition of Ewan McClure's work in the Mitchell Gallery of the Kirkcudbright Galleries in SW Scotland.

Following on from our many conversations before, during, and after the painting sessions, I returned to Broughton House with the idea of doing some photographic portraits of Ewan in the studio.

For me, when someone says a "painterly-style portrait", I tend to default to the 17th century Dutch old masters, playing with deeper shadows. So I set up a speedlight in a large gridded softbox, which allowed me to move the lighting to where I wanted, and for the background to drop off into the shadows.

I thought the results were OK, but Ewan's style of painting isn't Rembrandt influenced, so I then decided to have a go at creating a portrait of Ewan in more or less the same pose, under the same conditions in which he painted me.

Placing him in the same part of the studio, and just using the natural light of those large north-facing windows, it didn't take long to create an approximation.

But neither of these photos felt like they had the power and depth of Ewan's portrait of me. Instead, they just felt to me like I was copying painterly styles to create a painterly likeness. 

Which, of course, I was.

However, if I was going to create a photographic portrait of Ewan, why not play to the strengths of the camera rather than try and imitate painting?

Up until modern times, portraits were always painted under natural light conditions – whether that was outside, or by window or candlelight – so usually only has a single light source, perhaps with a touch of bounced light from other surfaces (my softbox set up was designed to emulate this). 

Consequently, once you start adding more than one strong light source, images tend to move away from that painterly look.

And then if you get rid of the colour too...

So I decided to create a black and white portrait against a pure white background.

For this, I still used my large softbox, but placed him in front of a translucent screen behind which I put another speedlight, which caused it to white out. However, I wanted to build another layer of light in the shadow, so I set up a 3rd speedlight behind and to one side which lit up the edge of his neck, jaw and cheekbone.

It's a recognisable photographic style that has very little to do with traditional painted portraits.

Finally, I wanted to get a shot of the the artist surrounded by his studio and paintings.

My original idea was to do this using the ambient light coming from the large skylights, but when I moved the camera back into position for a test shot, I'd forgotten the previous lighting arrangement was still in place, and all the speedlights were triggered when I clicked.

The result was far more dramatic than I was expecting and seemed to embody a much moodier narrative, which sent my brain into excitement overdrive. 

I also realised that leaving all the lights in shot added another layer to the image. This was a cinematic photo of a more conventional photography set up in an artist's studio. So then it was just a case of nudging various items in or out of shot, or changing their angles until there was a good compositional flow to the photo.

Without doubt, of all the photos I took of Ewan that day, this one gave me the deepest sense of delight and satisfaction, which was fed by the unexpected nature of it.

There is a school of photography that emphasises the idea and importance of pre-visualisation – where you decide what the photo is going to look like before you take it. The clearer that image is in your head, the easier it is to see what corrections you need to make when you take the photo.

Much like Ewan placing his board next to me as he painted – it allowed him to see how his portrait compared to the person sitting beside it – so your pre-visualisation gives you a reference image to compare to.

While many photographers find this to be a useful technique, personally I feel it restricts the possibility of the happy accident, which is where some of my greatest creativity has come from.

Whenever possible I try to leave space in a shoot for the unexpected. In turn this means I am primed to recognise when something more interesting comes along than my original idea.

If I had been trying to match up this photo with my first thoughts, then I would have inwardly sighed, and berated myself for not turning off the lights before doing my test shot. I would then have then removed all the lights and the backdrop from the line of sight and started again.

I may well have come up with a photo that I was pleased with, but I somehow doubt I would have created something that I found as fulfilling.

Every creator has their own set of processes, with their own set of challenges and rewards, generated by their own brain wiring and life experiences.

If we simply copy someone else's style without that same internal drive then we may well create something that looks superficially similar, but we will rarely ever experience that deep sense of satisfaction that caresses our bones.

For Ewan it is those moments when he briefly touches his truth of the light. For me it is when the unexpected leaps out at me, full of new potential.

What is it for you?

- - -

And for those who are interested, I discuss these topics in Episode 227 of my podcast, "Understanding Photography with Kim Ayres"

1:58 - Welcome, what's coming up, greetings and comments
4:43 - Smug Points Leaderboard update
6:22 - Introduction to why I had my portrait painted by artist, Ewan McClure
9:28 - What the final painting looked like
10:42 - The set up for the painting process
17:05 - A short time-lapse of the painting process
18:11 - An approach to the painting process, and un-tricking the brain
26:23 - A default face rather than a posed expression
30:41 - Art is the process - the finished product is a side effect
34:17 - Do you "take" or "make" a photo?
41:09 - Pre-visualisation vs The Happy Accident
43:14 - I returned to Ewan's studio to photograph him
44:01 - A painterly approach
46:50 - Never say this to an artist!
47:50 - A photographic approach
53:40 - A happy accident that completely changed what I did next
1:02:43 - Google Pixel's "remove people in the background" option, not quite working...
1:05:08 - A reminder that we now have a new Flickr group to accompany the podcasts
1:09:52 - End