I was rather specific about the size I wanted the canvas to be. Two and a half metres long and six hundred millimetres high.
The young attendant in the art supply shop said it was wrong, ‘The proportions are wrong, it’s too wide…’ I sighed gently and said ‘Oh okay, compared to what?’ He asked me to speak up.
I upped my volume, ‘Compared to what? You said the proportions are wrong, but to say that you must be comparing to something?’
There was a slight head tilt, ‘Well other canvas we have done, this is too wide in comparison to those.’ I gently mentioned, ‘Do I look like any of the other artists you have served?’ there was a scrunched up eye moment and a comment about ‘Well no…’
I responded, ‘Look to be fair I have only been in here a few times, and this time I’m here for some canvas, you will note I choose a heavy canvas, you will note I am rather specific about the size and to add a big chunk of insult I have been on this planet a lot longer than you, therefore some judgement about proportions and sizes is my thing, due purely to experience. If I was fresh out of art school, and I am not, I might wonder if you were right, but no, that’s not a thing here. Am I clear?’
There was a raised eyebrow and a nod.
The carefully cut canvas was about to be folded, I corrected, ‘No no roll it please, along the long edge.’ some brown paper was wrapped and taped in place.
I bid them good day after payment was made and headed off. I wonder if there was a bit of chat amongst the staff that afternoon. I certainly hoped so. My mind pondered if they would say ‘another crazy artist, but no Doc Martin shoes, or punk attire, just black jeans and obligatory black T’shirt. I giggled.
Back in the studio, stretcher frame constructed, canvas carefully rolled out, pneumatic stapler snapped into action. Tension created, corners carefully folded and staples into place.
Undercoat one mixed and brushed on, the framed piece now angled out in the afternoon sun to dry. A half hour later the piece was rotated.
I then mixed a darker first coat, about halfway to ‘black, black’ as they call it, some blue added.
Early in the evening the first dark coat went on, in the morning and the second coat applied bright and early, I was keen to get started.
The first marks to show the placement of items for the landscape were scratched into the surface with a blunt end of a pencil, fallen trees, subtle rocks and an horizon line, carefully measured out at first and then some hill based shapes.
I turned and walked away a few steps to survey the design, mind you it was barely visible, dark on dark, but the vague notional concept was there. I walked off.
Early afternoon came around fast, I was now ready to apply heavier coats of colour and began mixing. The brush picked up the heavy pigment and it wasn’t long before the results started to show, for some reason I did the vertical elements first then wobbled the brush around the rest as I went from right to left on the canvas.
Other colours were added and the whole thing started to evolve, I walked out about an hour and half later pleased with the current results.
Later that evening my mind got the better of me. I was out in the shed looking, oops, what was I thinking the earlier marks that were placed on the canvas now had some form of hideous appeal, not quite what I was after.
The canvas was turned upside down to evaluate the scale, composition, placement and so on. More paint mixed and applied, a better result perhaps, the canvas was then turned right way up.
I walked away.
The next morning through a sleepless night, I pondered the result, Yes better than the first go.
Arty visitor the next day, an ideal person to cast a wary eye over proceedings, he was slightly bothered by my asking, stating, ‘Wait you want my feedback? But you have always been so assured and confident, what gives?’
I then smiled and suggested, ‘Well you don’t visit very often and this just so happens to coincide with the first part of my making this piece so why not?’
We headed out to the shed, first things first, ‘It’s dark, you usually do light and airy, this is deep and pensive shall we say.’
My response, ‘Yes, yes it is.’ We stood and chatted about what might be achieved, what might start to evolve. There were murmurings about symbolism, mark making and so forth and did this all meet my desired aesthetic.
On his departure I felt as if the canvas did meet my expectations and ‘aesthetic’ but then no, it needed more.
Out came a smaller brush and more colour. It took several goes and quite some effort but now my minimal piece had become a bunch of heavy scattered marks that some might say made no sense, while others might laud the impression it made.
Happiness was brief on completion, pondering took longer. How does an artist know the piece is finished? How does the artist know anything.
© Steve Gray 2026
