Liquitex Medium Viscosity acrylic paints

As far as I can tell, these were the original artists' acrylic paints, having been introduced in this format as far back as the mid-1950s. Somewhat surprinsingly, they were re-branded as Soft Body Acrylics around 2005 and sold in tubes like the Liquitex Heavy Body Acrylics. However, a decade or so later, the small bottles are now back, but a little taller and redesigned to have a nozzle.

The original format bottles were widely-sold. I bought examples from WH Smith’s in the UK; in an office supplies store in Montreal, Canada; and a local art supplies shop in Oxford, England. They were (and are) excellent paints, being heavily-pigmented and ready for immediate use. (No shaking or stirring necessary.) The screw-on cap with flip-off lid made them very convenient to use. There must have been a large number of colours in the range at its zenith; appealing to artists, crafters and model makers. So why did they disappear from the shops?

Probably only Liquitex themselves know the answer. But I suspect that there are a number of reasons. Cheap imports, competing ranges and more specialised paints.

One other point. The selection shown here includes colours that no longer appear in the current Liquitex ranges. To be honest, I can't think of an obvious use for Christmas Green, but Taupe appealed to me as a scenic colour, and Polished Steel is very useful on models and miniature figures. Christmas Green sounds like a craft colour, and Polished Steel sounds like a hobby colour, so I am guessing that Liquitex stopped producing their craft and hobby colours in order to focus on their art colours?

Malayan butterflies

I was recently given this book — Common Malayan Butterflies by R. Morell — as a gift. It is a fond memento of a time that is now starting to seem a long time ago, because more than 50 years ago butterfly collecting was my first proper hobby. At the time, I was living with my family in Singapore. A friend of the family had a copy of this book and I must have been captivated by the colour illustrations, so thanks to my kind parents it seemed no time at all before I had my own personal copy. For a boy of seven this was a grown-up book with some words that I didn’t understand (and even some Latin), but it was accessible enough and before too long I knew about the biology of butterflies and caterpillars. More important, I could readily identify most of the species I saw flying around my world.

It might seem totally environmentally-unfriendly today, but in the late 1960s butterfly collecting in what we called the Far East was considered to be acceptable, albeit a little eccentric! A number of people I knew were keen, including friends my own age. I suspect that the Singapore of those days was less densely populated and developed than it is now, so there were more green spaces to attract the insects.

As a family, we travelled quite widely around Singapore and Malaysia by car, so on longer trips invariably my butterfly net, supply of specimen envelopes (kitchen grease-proof paper!) and mounting board(s) came with us. I kept no written records of "finds" whatsoever, so it was all by memory. If there was a butterfly that I didn't think I already had in the collection, I would attempt to catch it. Once caught, at that age I was quite happy to dispatch it with a quick pinch in the head/thorax region so it didn't suffer. Then it was into the specimen envelope until I had the opportunity to set out the insect on the mounting board.

 

Lest I conjure up a vision of a young, lepidoteracidal maniac, I hasten to add that I normally caught no more than two of any species. The main reason for this was a lack of display space. I used to have glass-fronted butterfly frames, which were like picture frames and hung on the wall, but were much deeper and they had a thick fibre board back which would accept the butterflies mounted on pins. I was definitely attracted to the larger and more showy creatures for obvious reasons.

The family made two visits to Malaysia's Cameron Highlands, no doubt attracted by the novelty of a more UK-like climate for a few days. Amongst the butterfly enthusiasts, a certain location near there was known to be a place where the stunning Rajah Brooke's Birdwing could be found. My parents obligingly took me there, and I know I caught at least a couple of fine specimens -- the pinnacle of my hobby, I suppose!

The butterfly collecting all came to an end in mid-1970, when my family returned to the UK. I brought my collecting net and mounting boards back with me in the hope that British butterflies would hold a similar fascination -- but the limited number of species, small size and short summer soon put paid to that idea. My net and mounting boards eventually disappeared after a number of house moves, but I believe the butterfly frames may still exist somewhere in the house (loft?). Heaven knows what sort of condition they will be in now.

My original copy of Common Malayan Butterflies (the first edition with a dust jacket, I believe) was stored for many years in the loft of my maternal grandparents' bungalow in Tankerton, Kent. When my mother went to sell the property several years later, a number of items had vanished from the loft, my butterfly book with them. So it was good to be able to finally revisit what had captivated my imagination all those years ago.

Origami

In many ways, I was brought up like my parents were — especially when younger. They were children of the 20th century inter-war years, long before television, computers and mobile phones were common in most households or even invented! In those days it was generally expected that children would make their own entertainment. They were encouraged to read books, take up hobbies and play outside when the weather permitted. Thousands of British young people were raised in a similar way. Were they deprived or disadvantaged because they didn’t enjoy the trappings of the UK in the 21st century? No, far from it! They have since been called our Greatest Generation, because they brought us through the trials of the Second World War and its aftermath, and thanks to their achievements we enjoy life as it is today.

In the early 1970s I could already list things like reading, Airfix kit-building, Lego and stamp collecting as hobbies and pastimes. (I even had a spell as a butterfly collector!) It must have been my friend John in Junior School who introduced me to Origami, the Japanese art of paper folding. Like several things in the 1970s, it was a bit of a thing at the time, no doubt encouraged by a programme on television hosted by Robert Harbin.

What appealed to me was that all you needed was a simple square of paper and a few minutes of time. And the ability to follow instructions carefully and make accurate folds. There were at least two books published at the time as a companion to the TV series, which were a great help. It was even possible to buy special Origami paper in bold colours, but I seem to remember that it was relatively expensive on my modest pocket money budget of the time!

Nearly half a century later, I can still remember the important folds and bases, and produce an acceptable Flapping Bird in a few minutes! Once upon a time, I could even make the amazing 3D Jackstone (by Jack Silverman of the USA?) from memory; but that was nearly three decades ago and my brain has been filled with other things since!

Spitfire at RAF Biggin Hill

On the 80th anniversary of Battle of Britain Day, I thought this would be an appropriate subject. Back in June 1992, some family friends who were stationed at RAF Biggin Hill at the time invited my mother and I to experience the Biggin Hill Airshow from the RAF side of the airfield. Despite its history and association with the Battle of Britain in particular, I was sadly aware that RAF Station Biggin Hill was due to close in October of that year. This was my opportunity to record something of the Station before closure.

The weather was perfect for an airshow, and armed with camera and films I soon shot through my colour exposures on the aerial displays. I still had rolls of black and white Kodak Plus X Pan, and carried on shooting that as the day came to an end. The colour film was duly processed and when I treated myself to a flatbed scanner in 2010, some of those photos became part of my Flickr stream. However, the black and white exposures were put away in the fridge to be processed at a later date...

It was August 2016 when I decided that I ought to do something about the exposed and unprocessed films in my fridge! The film itself would have expired in early 1983 (bulk-loaded), and I had not recorded when it had been exposed, so I picked one at random. This turned out to be the Biggin Hill film from 1992. I had it commercially processed in Oxford rather than doing it myself.

When I received the negatives, the good news was that there were images on the film. The less good news was that they were of low contrast and showed some fogging due to age, so it would be a challenge to extract usable images from them. Although the de facto standard software for doing this is Adobe Photoshop, I prefer to use GIMP (GNU Image Manipulation Program) due to licensing and cost reasons. I don’t have a record of how many hours I spent experimenting with both scanner software and GIMP settings, but I now have a better idea of how to get the best results from my scanning! Eventually, I found that repeated use of Layers resulted in a smoother and brighter sky.

Had I captured a historic moment? Was this the last time that an iconic Spitfire was serviced at RAF Biggin Hill? (Probably not, as this would have likely continued till the end of the air display season.) The hangar to the right is no more, but remarkably the concrete surface on which the Spitfire stands and the walls behind it still exist (as of early September 2019). I believe these are what remain of the Belfast triple-bay hangar that was demolished on the orders of the RAF Biggin Hill Station Commander on 4th September 1940, after a number of devastating Luftwaffe air raids during the Battle of Britain.

Some 80 years later, Biggin Hill Airport as it is now, still occasionally reverberates to the sounds of Spitfires. We are most fortunate to live in more peaceful times. And we should still be grateful for the young men and women who gave their best (and in some cases gave their lives) when most of the free world needed them.

Pro Arte Sablene brushes

I suspect that if I counted up my paint brush collection I would find that I had more assorted Pro Arte brand brushes than any others. I have been using them ever since a friend of mine brought them to my attention around 20 years ago; and Acrylix, Connoisseur, and Prolene Plus brushes all now see regular use.

Within the last couple of years, I noticed that Ken Bromley Art Supplies has been selling a Pro Arte brush called Sablene. Tantalisingly, little additional information seems to be available about it, and few people seem to have tried one and posted their reactions. I wondered whether Sablene might be the response to the Escoda Versatil and other synthetic brushes that claim to give a more sable-like experience when painting?

What is even more mysterious is that as of late July 2020, Pro Arte’s own Website makes no mention of Sablene whatsoever! (Or of Sablesque, which appeared about the same time as Sablene.) Odd.

Ken Bromley's only supplies these brushes in wallets containing four or five different brushes: you cannot (yet?) buy brushes individually. Also, there are some wallets described as Scholar, which are a little cheaper but the brushes have silver-coloured ferrules rather than gold-coloured. (Guess which sort I bought?...) Yes, I chose the Scholar 38WA pack containing Nos. 2, 4, 6, 8 round, and a 3/8 inch flat. I hoped that the cost would be saved in the handles and the hairs would be the same quality as in the more expensive wallets...

The brushes arrived in the same order as the Van Gogh paints I mentioned previously. To start with, I thought I would add to the test of brushes I made in February 2015 to get some idea of performance.  As I said back then, this is totally unscientific, and is simply a crude way of seeing how much paint a brush will hold and how well it releases it onto the paper.

Van Gogh watercolours

During one late evening Internet browsing session during the COVID-19 lockdown, I discovered that Ken Bromley Art Supplies now carry the Royal Talens Van Gogh range of student watercolour paints. Could these be a viable alternative to my favoured Cotman watercolours? Would EU manufacture win out over Far Eastern? Attracted by the reasonable pricing and the availability of some single pigment paints that are normally only available in more expensive artists’ ranges — and swayed by some favourable reviews — I ordered four 10 ml tubes. (Ken Bromley doesn’t stock these paints in pans.)

Despite the effects of the pandemic, my order was delivered to my door within four days, which I thought was good going. I had chosen a tube each of Raw Sienna, Sap Green, Pyrrole Orange and Azomethine Green Yellow. My only previous experience with student watercolours (ignoring the cheap rubbish in tin boxes that I remembered from childhood) has been with the Winsor and Newton Cotman range, so I was curious to try them out right away.

It has become standard procedure for me with any new watercolour paint, to make a small square reference swatch on a 1/16 Imperial sheet of Fabriano 130 lb Watercolour paper. (Making sure I label each one with the brand and colour.) This is a useful way of seeing which paints I own and gives some idea of what the paint will look like on paper — but it is not the best way to compare different paints. (The Internet has a number of excellent suggestions of how to organise ones watercolour paint swatches!)

All the Van Gogh tubes were well-filled with paint, and in the case of the Sap Green and Azomethine Green Yellow, I had to be careful not to make a mess of the cap and threads. I dabbed a little paint into my porcelain mixing dish and gradually added water with a paint brush till I had what I thought was a medium intensity. Each of the paints seemed a little reluctant to dilute with water and achieving an even mix seemed like more effort than I was used to with Cotmans. When painting out the swatches, I was surprised to see some bronzing in the Sap Green — so I must have mixed it stronger than I thought. The Raw Sienna came out a little weak and patchy. Both the Pyrrole Orange and Azomethine Green Yellow worked as expected, however.

It was at this point that I decided to consult the Internet — something I should have done before I placed my order! Granted, there were some favourable reviews, notably by people who had been sent sets by Royal Talens — including one who used rather expensive paper (Hahnemühle Leonardo 300 lb no less!). But I found one or two comparative reviews more helpful and balanced. Comments like saturated, low flow, some bronzing, no chalkiness, easy re-wetting, opaqueness, optical brighteners, and muddled colour seemed to be a common theme. I was a bit concerned that the author of the Scratchmade Journal wrote that I like to build watercolor paintings in gentle layers, but Van Gogh doesn't go for that. This watercolor likes to go down strong and be left alone, but I did enjoy using them similar to gouache.

I read that to mean that Van Gogh watercolours were not suitable for glazing techniques — something I believe is fundamental to watercolour. Elsewhere, I read a grumble that the paints could not be overpainted without lifting, which if true meant that the paints would be in large part useless to me! I had already noticed the reluctance to flow, but I found the reports of ease of rewetting more troubling. I decided to perform a simple test. If I painted out a square of Pyrrole Orange (which I know is staining in other brands) wet on dry, how would it respond to glazing and lifting?

Well, despite using (St Cuthbert’s Mill) Bockingford 300 gsm CP paper which is known for its colour-lifting ability, I was pleased to find that repeated scrubbing with water and a Pro Arte Prolene Plus round brush lifted very little colour after a day. A glazing test using Cotman Ultramarine worked perfectly. And a subsequent glazing test a day later using Van Gogh Azomethine Green Yellow (diluted with homemade distilled water) didn’t cause disappointment either, even on the Cotman Ultramarine which usually lifts fairly easily.

Therefore, I am happy to say that despite some initial misgivings, my testing has shown that at least two of my paint choices work in the way I would expect them to, and they will be a useful addition to my watercolour palette. I will look into improving the paint flow: the distilled water seemed to help a little. (My tap water is fairly hard.)

I think this goes to show that we all have different expectations and ways of working. I have the greatest admiration for someone who can produce a masterpiece in a couple of hours or less; my approach is more measured and deliberate. (It is a hobby for me.) I would certainly consider using Van Gogh paints again in the future. But I don’t think they will replace my Cotmans. Perhaps I was fortunate with my choices? (Except for the Raw Sienna...)

Canon EOS digital colour 3

Perhaps predictably, after about a year I became dissatisfied with the colour in the photos I was getting from my Canon EOS 100D, using my variation of the Prolost Flat setting. I mostly shoot landscapes as both a record of where I have been, and/or as a record of how my world is changing, and I felt that there was still something lacking. In one comparison shot with my favoured compact camera, I was disappointed and surprised to see how much the sky differed between the two cameras. Had I overdone the Auto White Balance (AWB) setting on the EOS that badly?

Once again the video people on the Internet confirmed what I had been seeing: the Canon Neutral colour setting produces strong greens and magenta in the blues! So Neutral colour was actually turning my distinct blue skies to washed-out blue-grey, and also doing strange things to the colours of the clouds. (Apparently the Canon Faithful colour setting is similar to Neutral but boosts the reds.) So no wonder that my picture of the ruined Corfe Castle on a sunny summer afternoon failed to draw my eye afterwards. 

I had already come to the realisation that depicting a convincing and natural blue sky — when present — is an important ingredient of my photographs. (I was leaning in the same direction for watercolour landscape paintings.) A particularly good test is the pale cyan sky that can be seen on sunny days with small cumulus clouds on the horizon. Indeed I might go as far to say that if the sky looks right, then the rest of the image shouldn’t be too wrong. To then discover that a camera colour setting is doing unkind things to my skies clinched it: I needed to revise my colour settings.

Given that most of the other Canon camera picture modes influence the colour in known ways, the obvious choice was to return to the Standard colour mode setting. Thanks to previous camera forum comments and my own experiments, I knew that the contrast needed to be turned right down. I also knew that the saturation had to be reduced below zero to tone down the colours: I experimented with -2 and -1 saturation before settling on -1. I increased the sharpness by one to 4, which is probably as high as I dare risk it going by other Internet comments. Lastly, I tweaked the Auto White Balance compensation to A3 + G2. I think this is now pretty close to what I am expecting to see. (See the top image. For comparison, the second image was taken within a few seconds of the first and shows what my variation of Prolost Flat looks like using A4 + G4 AWB. Hmm, no surprise that I thought there was something missing...)

To summarise, the settings I am now using are (S, 4, -4, -1, 0), with A3 + G2 AWB. I know that most other people who care about this sort of thing “shoot raw” — but someone might find this useful.