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Knowing When to Stop
Many years ago I painted the watercolor above from a photo I had taken of Vasagatan. The colors turned out warm and vibrant, which I love, with some cooler tones at the edges. The light is created by leaving plenty of white in the center, where I placed the focal point. The cars are painted with minimal detail, which works well in this watercolor. I also added a few people near the center, at the focal point, and a small umbrella to justify the reflection on the wet pavement after the rain.
I like this watercolor. I painted it loosely and freely, yet interestingly, I followed the reference closely, placing all the elements exactly as in the photograph.
 Vasagatan – the reference photo above was taken in the middle of the day, and there had been no rain. You can see that I painted the cars in exactly the same positions as in the photo, except for the bus, which I chose to remove. Yet the watercolor became something entirely different – the light and the time of day feel later, as if the sun has just peeked out after the rain and is on its way down.
Why do I show this? Recently I felt like painting the same scene again. I paint a little differently now – five years have passed, after all. How would I approach it this time? I sketched the scene and immediately fell into that cozy, focused feeling where time disappears. But that can also be dangerous.
It’s easy to lose the overall composition and just sit there copying, without thinking about what you actually want to create – and that’s exactly what happened.
The sketch is okay, but when I started painting I lost the big picture. I looked at the photo, mixed colors, placed them on the paper. Thought that maybe the brake lights should reflect on the asphalt, or that the approaching cars could be a bit brighter… and then…
I fell into a mode where I was just having way too much fun. I sat and painted, enjoying myself, a little like “phone doodling” – just letting my hand go without really thinking. It became full of details, because it’s so much easier to paint everything in the photo than to pause, think, plan, and decide what is really needed.
I was painting instead of creating a painting – and that is a crucial difference. Do you recognize that feeling? I was heading toward an overworked watercolor with no direction, which is not what I wanted.
And then I suddenly saw what I was doing. I looked at the whole image – and it wasn’t good. Some details worked, but the overall composition didn’t. That’s when you have to stop, even though it’s hard. You want to keep going; you’ve spent so much time. Oil or acrylic? You could scrape or paint over. But with watercolor, there’s little you can fix. In that situation, there’s really only one thing to do – take the lesson and start again. Do it over, do it right.
On the next attempt, I thought more carefully about what I wanted. Evening light, more distinct brake lights, stronger light from the approaching cars, darker buildings, a muted sky. I added highlights from the street lamps and created a clear focal point with a person crossing the street. I try to see the whole picture in my mind while painting, not just the spot where the brush is. For me, that’s crucial – that’s when I feel satisfied. But it’s hard to focus on the big picture.
What can you do? One way is to stand up and take a few steps back from your painting. That gives distance and lets you see it in a new way.
But I paint sitting down and don’t have room to step back. I bought a small wide-angle mirror – the kind meant for a car’s rearview mirror to check that kids in the back seat aren’t killing each other. Looking in it gives you an overview, a chance to see the painting from afar. Another way is to take a photo of your painting with your phone to get a smaller version while you work. If you have a mirror in the room, hold the painting up and view it reflected – that’s another great way to see the whole picture.
Always try to see the entire painting – not just the details while you work. It’s difficult, but it makes a difference. |
